“Clock”

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-25)

 

The clock stopped ticking

I knew it was the end of time

Somehow, I must have forgotten

That innerspring might unwind

The shadows grew longer

As I looked out my bay window

That was the moment when

Her life lost its glow

 

The clock stopped ticking

I did not need a prophet in place

To realize that I had reached

The end of mercy and grace

My sister-companion

With whom I had shared a lifetime

Disappeared over the horizon

Looking gaunt and past her prime

 

The clock stopped ticking

Familiar sound turned to a snore

I realized that the magic spell

Had been hushed forevermore

I put a hand to my ear

And silence was the reward

It left me feeling forlorn

This cutting of the cord

 

The clock stopped ticking

No more advice came to save

Though I called out in desperation

The echo met its primal wave

The sunset became eternal

It draped the treetops, deepest blue

I bowed my head, sorrowfully

There was nothing else to do

 

The clock stopped ticking

No one had turned the key for years

Inside, the mechanism stilled

There was no motion in the gears

From my vantage point

I beheld this work of fate

And marked the moment with a kiss

To steady the swinging gate

 

The clock stopped ticking

There was a peal of trumpet sound

A bugler announcing finality

On the curve of a funeral mound

I had to brace my head

For the impact of that noise

It caused my heart to flutter

With a cadence, cleverly employed

 

The clock stopped ticking

And I recognized it from the hilt

A clasping of hands in reverence

Under temple stones, rebuilt

There might have been a chance

To turn this darkest day aside

But I could not do the deed

It was not my time to ride

 

The clock stopped ticking

The metallic strike, abated

No more of the drummer’s march

That purpose was negated

With eyes closed and an open heart

I met the hour of need

A penitent, prayerful seeker

Sprung from a human seed

 

The clock stopped ticking

Though I wished for its hands to turn

I could not accept what was

My emotions began to churn

When I called upon the deities

That were most trusted to hear

It brought a retort of consequence

The creator, disappeared

 

The clock stopped ticking

It had reached a terminal point

When I saw the candle flicker

And the olive oil, anoint

The rituals often used to cleanse

Now ran like a river of mud

A stain of mortal failings

Reflected in the blood

 

The clock stopped ticking

The sun dipped low and lost

The final breath was drawn

The meter pegged its cost

A sum too great to be satisfied

By any human hand

The end of days had now arrived

For a solitary man

 

The clock stopped ticking

My friend, my counterpart

Had slipped from bonds of flesh

Into a tapestry of art

Her pictures lingered still

When we reflected on the cold

Those images offered comfort

But left mysteries, untold