Before the clock's tenth bell rung

Just a slight tick tock after one,

He embraced a child with love

And that child loved back. Until

The child was a child no more.

 

The clock's hand pulled away

The white veil and gifted

A black laced handkerchief

The tears fell upon his deaf ears

And all that was left were salty scars.

 

He could not find light in

The fire that shone in his eyes.

The shadow cast cornered him

Into a box of air. But

He chose to consume smoke.

 

Now he stands blurry-eyed

And thick of barren bone.

Salivating over plates of rich

Cheese. Fumbling then gorging

And licking fingers and knives.

 

The man before me loved

A child and that childe loved

Him. But that child is a child

No more. Growing, every tick tock

Knowing every tick tock

Is one less heartbeat for

The man a child use to love.