Within a shop of dim, forsaken wares,
A clock sat silent on its dusty throne;
Its face unscarred by time’s relentless cares,
Its hands forever fixed at twelve alone.

The merchant smiled, a secret on his lip,
“This timepiece measures not hours as they flee,
But frees its keeper from time’s unyielding grip—
And grants its bearer immortal majesty.”

I bought the clock and set it by my bed,
And watched its motionless hands hold the night,
While all around me, mortal minutes fled,
Yet I remained untouched by morning’s light.

The months grew pale, my friends all waned to gray,
While mirrors showed my face unfazed by years;
I laughed to see time’s reach held far away,
And mocked the world’s age-ravaged tears.

But soon I found the seasons lost their form,
While lovers aged and memories seemed the same;
Each joy grew stale, each passion lost its storm—
An ageless fool in time’s relentless game.

I struck the clock, my hope beyond repair,
But found its glass no mortal hand could break,
Condemned to watch eternity laid bare,
I lived to rue the choice I dared to make.

The centuries like drifting ashes pass,
And I remain as empires rise and fall,
The clock’s dark jest reflects within its glass—
Time stopped for me, yet freed me not at all.

The merchant’s smile consumes my haunted mind;
For those who flee time’s toll must pay the whole.
Who shun the hours that fate itself designed,
Will find each moment torment to the soul.

Each wish to cheat the scythe becomes a chain,
Forged link by link in silence, pain, and woe,
For Time, though still, will evermore remain
The master none may bribe nor overthrow.

So heed, you dreamers hungering to flee,
Beyond the hold of hours that claim their due—
No art nor prayer nor cunning sorcery
Can halt the clock that lives and dies in you.