Silence drones the space between
the ticking of the clock,
grants eternal patience
swept in pendulum’s play to mock.
The tension of the winding spring
stands the air to crème,
as hopeful hesitation calms
the pensive chimes to dream.
Built to serve a purpose.
Left to witness life.
Counting every breaking hour
twixt sweeps of joy and strife.
Dusted here in tender care
by shaking grey and lucid hands,
in hopes to hear its chimes once more
and toll this hall’s passing, grand,
for yet another hour.