Sandra Osborne - Time

Flowing clouds of gas,
Candles dripping wax
Upon the clock,
Freezing time, holding it still

Hands struggle.
Bearings strain.
Gears churning,
Against the hold.

And as pale white transparent veins;
Flaws appear on the surface.
Growing, multiplying,
And in a crescendo of motion,
The timeless grip is broken.

At best;
The sound is aloof.
Plowing through the rubble
Without thought,
Swiftly advancing
In it's mission.

Aware of only
Fading moments,
Quietly marking
The well worn path.

Sandra Osborne

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/time-119/