There is an old clock
upon my crumbling wall
that shall remain until the end—
the end of my days,
my final fall.
It ticks my finite life away,
each day and every night.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
My life depends upon that clock—
to always tick, to always tock.
But I trudge along
through the wintry blizzard,
the falling flakes of time,
following my fate
as I watch it pass by.
Never to stop, never to end,
always on the eternal run...
though never from one to ten,
but always ten to none—
until there is nothing left.
Yet as I make my way
to the eternal spring,
I shed my pain; I sing it away.
I will be born anew
from all my buried wounds.
Only to relive a similar fate—
one that reverses the pain,
once I make my final amends
with what keeps me awake—
every night, every day.