#86 Is Late, Is Late!

There is no time
There is no measure
So time has no meaning
With nothing to mark it

Surrounded by nothing but sand
Fine as dust and white
I search for an object
Some definition

I stub my toe on something
I brush away the sand
It's a clock, thank gods
But it's inert, and dead

A timeless situation
That must be what it is
The hands are frozen
The seconds tick never

I wind the spring desperately
Hoping for a tick or a tock
But nothing clicks
No pendulum swings

Suddenly I hear a bell
A far off clock tower
Marking the hour
And things start to move

Everything is ok
I can breathe again
Time has found me
I can grow old with a smile