The Clock that Dreams in Ash

It ticks no more… yet dreams remain…

A wheel of ghosts in hollow chains.

The hands are gone, the song decays…

But in the ash, the silence plays.

I feel the hum of hollow steel,

A broken time that cannot heal.

The seconds bled, the hours we burned,

And still the wheel has never turned.

The voices fade in fractured tones,

Like prayers carved in crumbling stones.

The dream persists, though all is gray —

A ghost of light in endless sway.

Through the dust, the echoes rise,

Of shattered clocks and shattered skies.

The spiral sleeps, but not in peace —

Its dream will never find release.

The clock that dreams in ash still sings,

Of broken hours and shattered rings.

It turns in silence, turns in pain,

Through endless dark, through endless rain.

The clock that dreams in ash won’t die,

It hums beneath a bleeding sky.

The song of ruin, soft and low,

Forever ticking where none can go.

I see the face of time erased,

Its teeth of glass, its hands displaced.

Yet still it stirs, a haunted mind,

Repeating all it cannot find.

The fire took the axis down,

But left the whisper of a crown.

A dream of suns, a dream of seas,

Now drowned in black eternities.

Sleep, O clock, in endless gray…

Tick in dreams where shadows play…

The spiral hums, the void will keep…

The ghost of time that cannot sleep.

The clock that dreams in ash still sings,

Of fractured laws and broken kings.

It breathes in silence, breathes in fire,

A dream that drowns, yet won’t expire.