Falling Time

There is a clock mounted on a wall,
The second hand poised, waiting to fall,
Swinging into yet another gyration,
It’s pendulum in rapid oscillation,
Taunting me with minutes before,
Hours which in my head are stored,
Filled with visions of bygone days,
Memories which will never fade.
Photographs on mirrored glass,
Prompt my introverted soul to ask,
If those days, done and gone,
Will hold together these fragile bonds,
Or are they shooting stars at night,
Soaring through galaxies in their flight,
Crossing paths then streaking away,
As the second hand gives way.