The Death Watch Beetle

The Death Watch Beetle

It starts in silence, barely there

a single tick within the stair

or in the beam above the bed

a sound that stirs the sleeping dead

No crowd will come, no mourners speak

just tap on timber, slow and bleak

it doesn’t shout, it doesn’t pause

just beats its rhythm into flaws

Old houses know the creeping song

the pulse that waits, that taps too long

behind the walls where secrets stay

and rot and memory slip away

Some say it calls the end to near

a tap for each remaining year

or none at all, just borrowed time

ticking soft with no design

It doesn’t knock, it doesn’t plead

just answers some unspoken need

to count what’s left, to mark, to warn

a beetle in a rafter, worn

I heard it once and held my breath

a whisper spun with threads of death

and still I lie, and still it hums

until the hush of silence comes