Time's personal touch

Time’s Personal Touch

Sitting on my bed in the afternoon light,
I gaze at the clock, its hands moving slow,
A circle of moments, each one taking flight,
Yet its meaning shifts, like the ebb and the flow.

For some, it means waiting by a hospital door,
Each tick a heartbeat, each moment a prayer,
Eyes fixed on the clock, hoping for more,
With worry and hope hanging heavy in the air.

For others, it rushes, like leaves in the breeze,
Hours slip away, lost in tasks that won't end,
The clock ticks away while they’re busy, at ease,
Chasing the minutes that seem to pretend.

Some find comfort in routines they create,
Each hour a step in their daily embrace,
Time feels like a friend, steady and great,
Helping them find peace in life’s rapid race.

But what of the dreamers, lost in their thoughts?
To them, the clock’s ticking is just a soft sound,
Time flows like a river, with lessons it’s taught,
Moments of wonder where new dreams abound.

So here I sit, pondering, my thoughts intertwined,
With this simple clock, marking lives all around,
It holds countless stories, each heartbeat aligned,
In its rhythm, we find that our journeys are bound.