I wrote this quite a while ago:
Like sand falling through an hour glass, the ticking of a watch as each arm reaches out and swipes past symbols in black, a pocket watch dangling unconscious on a strong gold chain. Time passes. An hour, minute, existence, spell, instant, second, heart beat.
Time cannot be dead. Yet our time comes.
Wind-up. A screen of bright lines. Two arms moving. Intangible, lurking in one’s mind or lingering in the air that we breathe.
Time threatens, gives, angers, excites, daunts, passes, alarms, slips away, scares, panics, brings fear.
Yet we are stuck with it…