Flowing clouds of gas, <br />Candles dripping wax <br />Upon the clock, <br />Freezing time, holding it still <br /> <br />Hands struggle. <br />Bearings strain. <br />Gears churning, <br />Against the hold. <br /> <br />And as pale white transparent veins; <br />Flaws appear on the surface. <br />Growing, multiplying, <br />And in a crescendo of motion, <br />The timeless grip is broken. <br /> <br />At best; <br />The sound is aloof. <br />Plowing through the rubble <br />Without thought, <br />Swiftly advancing <br />In it's mission. <br /> <br />Aware of only <br />Fading moments, <br />Quietly marking <br />The well worn path.<br /><br />Sandra Osborne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/time-119/
