tolling hopelessly away

How can the hours seem so long and blue…

But also have no track or time to stop?

What pulls them apart without a clue

Unending with no trace to look through?

Why do they begin to pop

And end as if they know its true?

When will emptiness finally mop

What cannot even be created new?

Can we even try to?

And how is the sky blue?

Do these questions answer themselves?

Or are they stopped in their own tracks?

Could it be like empty shelves

Or lost and lonely facts?

If the trains can’t stop to relax

Is it just tethered spells?

Stuck away churning in their own tracks

In time to worn-out bells