the winding of time:
upon holding the watch of an old man now departed
you know, life was once measured
by keeping watch.
each and every morning,
the old manís hands
would wind up another day of time,
turn, turn, turn, until the stem turned no more,
maybe a little more,
was all kept by this winding of an old manís hand,
old men no longer need to wind their watches,
the watch just goes,
paying no mind to the old manís hands,
the watch merely living along on its own,
on and on,
day after day,
keeping us on time, on its own pace of time,
the kind of time that has no need for us.
it used to be that when the old man died,
the watch died with him,
and they slept in the place that exists between the tick and the tock,
the days of forever,
where time is no more,
the old man dies and the clock keeps ticking,
for it has no more need for the old manís hands.
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