When the Hands Stand Still

Stolen time can’t be replaced… But the gears still turn in stoic grace. Pushes, pulls, denies, devours… Time builds and breaks us by the hour. Ticking… tocking, no reprieve, Moments pass while I just breathe. The faucet drips in cold reply, Marking grief I can’t deny. Restless nights with no retreat, My thoughts come loose as I grind my teeth. Each second screams, each moment mocks, I drift within a dying clock. When will it stop? This forward march, this silent kill? I gave my all, I climbed my hill… But now… the hands stand still. A window stares, the sky won’t change, The stars ignore my quiet rage. The drip, the tick, they form a choir, A requiem for lost desire. When will it stop? This endless hum... beneath my skin? I paid in full… I can’t win. And now… the hands stand still. They say time heals, But time just hides the scars. It moves on… Even when we can’t. I begged the night for just one pause, To mend the breaks, to make a cause. But silence answers, raw and shrill, And still… the hands stand still. When will it stop? This turning wheel, that steals my will… I chased the dream, I climbed the hill… But now… the hands… The hands… Stand still.