The Clockmaker’s Time Wasn’t Right

The Clockmaker’s Time Wasn’t Right

The gears turned slow, the hands stood still,

a craftsman bent to time’s cruel will.

With careful touch, he shaped the past,

but every tick would never last.

His workshop hummed with silent dread,

a thousand clocks, yet all were dead.

He wound them tight, he set them true,

but fate had stitched his hours askew.

The pendulum swayed, yet mocked his plight,

for the clockmaker’s time was never right.

No matter how he spun the gears,

he chased lost seconds, stolen years.

His fingers ached, his vision blurred,

the ticking ghosts remained unheard.

He built the hours, he carved the days,

but time still slipped through unseen ways.

And when his breath fell still one night,

his clocks all chimed his time was right.

They ticked forever and a day

when he died he chased the evil away.