The Clock

Time

On days the sun hides

Behind solemn greys

Of nostalgia,

I curl up in the attic of a home

Built with trembling hands

In a winter past;

Abandoned

When the spring birds sang.

 

Words

Once tenderly birthing love,

Rot in their nascence,

Pressed between pages

Full of you and me

And what we could be.

 

There’s a clock that stands still

On our single greatest moment:

When you first said

You loved me

And stopped my frantic voices

In their soliloquies.

 

In that world,

Stuck in a time so dear,

You and I linger

Like unspoken words

Under cozy quilts

Of a silence we held near.

 

Today,

Strangers we may be

Again.

But there is a place

Where we live on.

An ounce of time and space

That you can call upon.

 

You will find me there

On stormy nights,

Reading incomplete chapters

To firewood

Blazing:

Once upon a time,

There was a story unwritten …

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