Upon the wall, a clock remains,
Not bound by time, nor held by chains.
Its hands don’t just count rise and fall,
But whisper truths beyond them all.
One hand gleams, a guiding light,
A force that breaks the deepest night.
It calls to wake, to rise, to see,
To grasp the spark of destiny.
Another hums, both firm and wide,
A voice of strength, a source of pride.
It shapes the path, unseen, untold,
A will that neither bends nor folds.
One sways like tides that turn and shift,
A cycle endless, smooth and swift.
It flows, it fades, it comes anew,
A rhythm bound to all we do.
Another breathes in whispered tone,
A song that’s neither flesh nor stone.
Its echoes rise, then drift away,
Yet speak of more than words can say.
One holds the ground, yet meets the sky,
A bridge between the low and high.
It bends, it moves, yet stays so strong,
A place where all belong.
One glows with wisdom’s ancient fire,
A voice that lifts, a dream much higher.
It tells of truths both old and deep,
Of secrets only silence keeps.
One hand stands where thought resides,
A space where sight and soul collide.
A window wide, a world unseen,
A path both vast and keen.
Another marks the weight of grace,
A step in time, a measured place.
Neither too little, nor too great,
The balance drawn by hands of fate.
One hand bends where mind takes flight,
A force that moves beyond our sight.
Not flesh, nor bone, yet felt so near,
A bridge between the known and clear.
One points home, a hearth so bright,
A warmth that stays through endless night.
Not just of walls, nor roof nor stone,
But where the heart has always known.
Another sways where paths divide,
A compass set, a turn inside.
The way we go, the steps we make,
The choices drawn, the roads we take.
One whispers low of truth untamed,
A thought unshaped, yet never named.
It speaks of all, yet none can claim,
The clock still moves—but stays the same.
Its hands all turn, yet none remain,
No second lost, no moment gained.
And still it hums, both loud and true—
That time is more than passing through.