Horror for the Horologist

An old clock's perfect life is disrupted.

In blue pools of light swings the pendulum of my
life.
It stays inside and keeps the time
So that it can cloud my eye, with time gone by

My heart keeps perfect time in my chest
Beating the oil out in chorded veins
I sink deeper into rest

Dreams come through me, ghosts in the gears
Trample my carefully arranged seclusion
I think and feel now: no illusions

Where once their was only harmony
I now keep time in a Shakespearean
tragedy

Gears scattered across the parquet floor
Relics, relics
A time gone by

Now time flies with no pace
Speeding up, slowing down
Not a saving grace

I give up my place at the foyer door
Sing a last lullaby to the children
There is no more

I resign myself
Now is not the time for weeping;

I need a horologist
To sooth, and help me keep my place