the clock of dread

The Clock of Dread

In the hollowed halls of time’s domain,
Where shadows dance and madness reign,
There stands a clock of ancient make,
Its every tick a soul to take.

Upon its face, the hours weep,
The hands of fate in silence creep,
Each chime a whisper, cold and grim,
That draws the night forever dim.

Beneath its sway, the living cower,
For none escape the midnight hour.
It speaks of doom with every beat,
A requiem both dark and sweet.

The pendulum, in mournful sway,
Doth steal the light of dying day,
And in its rhythm, life declines,
Consumed within its dread designs.

No dawn can break its endless spell,
No light can pierce the shadowed knell.
For time, once lost, shall not return,
In death's embrace, all fires burn.

Oh, listen close, as it draws near—
The clock of dread, the end of fear.
And when it strikes its final tone,
You’ll find yourself forever alone.