|
The grey clock -
An erstwhile magical godfather,
A precise runner behind earth spins,
A soul's illuminant with sharp bang,
An awakening lord equivalent to dawn,
A chirping bird that tweedles seasonably,
Is breathing for
The care now,
Clock's eyelid ever
Praying for it,
With last breath,
Still it owns.
Today, it's look -
A spiritless soul,
An alien,
An ailing soul,
A falling autumn leaf,
A noisy graybeard,
For this 'no time' universe.
All, grey clock wish -
A little caress,
A small supplement of energy,
A few seconds of time,
To come back rejuvenated like a spring.
Will clock's
Praying eyelid
Or dying breath
Succeed? |
