Existing in a plane of naught,
A timeless place the world forgot,
A life all Powers and mortals sought;
And meant only for me.
But the clocks displayed one time,
Keeping a silence quite sublime,
In a haunting sort of rhyme;
Their faces all say three.
“Why are all the clocks here broken?”
Are the only words here spoken,
Where not a soul admits their token;
They work just fine for me.
And I believe it’s quite an art,
The silent darkness that will dart
Into a world void as my heart.
“Why do the clocks say three?”
There is no time within this state,
No such concept as too late,
Here the time is dead to fate.
And so the clocks stay free.
October 13, 2011