The Clock on the Wall

The clock on the wall seems to melt
as the hands strike up their pose
for a rhythmic dance.
The time seems to fly
as the hours ware by,
yet the drip hits the floor.

The clock has not worked
since a quarter to four,
yet I stare at it for a little more.
Magic pulls my eyes
to the clock as the hands
go tick tock.
The drip from the clock
as the melting does commence
shatters the ear drums
it is so intense.
My eyes follow the path of the
second hand, but the dripping
has spread to the wall.
Now as the wall crumbles
around it the clock
stays suspended in space.
It's dripping continues
to the beat of a heart
thus my mind is officially shot.

I can do naught
but stare at the 10 and the 4.
The rest of the numbers
have fallen to the floor.
As the hands droop and point down
no time is visible
on this sad clock now.
My eyes dart around
for where to look.
They fall upon an open book.
This book as I read,
fades in my hands
as if it was hourglass sands.

My eyes are full of sand and dust,
this day is truly a big bust.
I hardly can move as I stare,
And then suddenly there goes my chair.
I stand in a room
that starts to crumble.
All around me is nothing
but dust and rubble.

But far away I see the light of day.
I look to the clock
to see if it's okay.
My time must be up now
so I may break free.
The clock has all melted
left is the battery.
So I run as fast as I can,
climb the rubble,
forget the sand.
Finally I lay down
in a field so green.
Damn that clock
it was ever so mean.