Knocking, knocking, knocking, on this old clock,
These hands wander what is held between the seen and unseen;
So much passes, and slips between every tick tock;
Playing hide and seek with every flicker of light beheld,
Closed, behind a darkened face, but unable to make sense of what it might mean.
The half hidden moon seems to stop to watch from the wide window;
Inside the lowly home, with its subtle sounds, swaying with shadows along the walls,
Hung with the timeless memories, poems, and rhymes.
Crack! Breaks the dawn, as the sun comes up slow:
A tired wanderer of the world, where it brightly falls;
Through halls and highways, healing with its light in the hollowed times.
Turn your back, as an hour goes by,
Reach toward the space of glass,
Where the moon once peered,
Past the footsteps, where a future might lie.
Marked between dark and light;
A key waits to be found to unlock these hands;
Clasped to face the broken curse;
Timekeeper, unlock the unending pattern of ticking, ticking, ticking, all through the night.
A bell sounds, like the chill of beauty breaking through;
Like the rhythm written on the walls, striking with promises in every verse;
With the turn of the tide, the turn of tomorrow stands;
Like countless grains of sand,
Trapped within the crevice of every open and closed clue.
Answer, my knocking; I have knocked!
I have eyes to see through your door;
But you make no meaning of your constant clicks;
A resonating voice urges me to reach for my own hand and feel my pulse-
Beat after beat sounds slowly;
When the sound ends, a world will begin. Unlocking, unlocking, unlocked...
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