tempus fugit

the watchmaker sighs
his breath leaving circles
of condensation on the shop windows
warm and affirming

outside
the snow forms a pretty picture
the white icicles
mingle soundlessly with
the soft breeze
There is no trace
of life

In the dimly-lit streets of the town
the twinkling lights dissipate
amidst
the eerie quiet, the neverending night
a single drop of water
slides down the glass
where its life is claimed
by time.

time doesn't forgive your mistakes
it only erases, the details
like a duster on chalk
slowly but surely
the memories are coaxed away
this isn't a selective process,
sorry to disappoint you

pure, unbiased obliteration
is its signature mark

the watchmaker makes time
a measurable quantity
defying fickle nature

tick tick tock tock

the short hand corresponds to
the number twelve
insofar, his life will be preserved
time is generous

then, when it sickens of him
He will be replaced
wrinkles, arthritis and all
by another replica
a youthful version
one that doesn't stumble
or falter
Speaks in completed sentences
...someone who makes less errors.

the clocktower does its trick
strikes thirteen
the silence magnifies
stillness occupies the land
I guess, for now,
you will have to do.