Lost Clocks

“Tick-tock, the pendulum sang, Against the fractured tapestry of fate, As sea lines faded into salt-drenched whispers, What happens when the clocks forget to chime, When the waves script the tides, Neither kind nor cruel, 50 years lost within glassy reflections of time?” The grandmother clock on the mantle sighed, Its hands frozen at a half-past muse, And shadows danced in unison above the worn wooden floor, Footprints of the past lingered in the somber air, Scribbling stories in negativity — how striking Yet all was hushed, whispers winced and then swooned, experiencing eternity confined in the walls. *You are sailing, are you not?* Traversing a ghostship charted through starless spectral spaces, Where scents conductivity entangle, Mosaic cries of sand slipping through clenched fingers, *What of the watch under the sea, the fish-tick synchronized?* Days expand, no measure can crisp how they reckon... and ye, still lost on shores without guidance.