What to do with a broken clock

Should it keep upon the wall and serve the one with swollen eye as it sounds of empty toll to mask its unspoken goodbye? Should it peel upon the skin and dust collected from the vine of the once forbidden fallen fruit that turned a bitter wine? Was the hour that had wanted forth a promise never kept after the minute hand retired, and the second-handed theft? ‘Tis the guardian of being that the stillness has revealed and the silence of the space between the obsolescence sealed. All belief abandons me yet I’ve never felt more love. I can’t believe in water yet it flows to meet my tongue. The ever-present stillness speaks, a waking mother’s sigh, a gentle voice that whispers, weaving love and lullaby. Empty your cup, know thyself and spin to receive your fill, overflowing it sprinkles o’er the frozen daffodil. Question everything and only trueness shall remain; for trueness is the only path that paves without the pain.