The hands of time

Standing high on the clocktower
The minute hand pushing down
Beads of sweat on my forehead
My arms strain from it's weight
I reach down deep and push up harder
The metal edge cuts into my hands
My knees are shaking, my back strains
Just when I am ready to quit
I think about what might have been
An inner strength begins to grow
My knees stop shaking, my back straightens
I feel power beyond the physical
The tower creaks and moans
Springs stretch and gears slip
With a loud crash the hand works free
Instead of a moment of glory
I slip and fall to my death
A crowd gathers around my body
And elderly man pushes through
Staring down at me and shaking his head
He mutters, "Time makes life worth living.
Too bad you spent yours fighting".