In the heart of the night where shadows creep
time's hands twist back, and life holds its breath
the darkness descends in a cold, silent sweep
a harbinger of dreams woven with death.

Once in a cellar where whispers conspire,
the ticking of clocks becomes muffled and strained
each second is measured with flickers of fire
as panic erupts yet relief remains chained.

Memories gather like dust on old shelves,
while echoes of laughter betray what has passed
the past wails for lives that were lived in themselves
but time stumbles forward from future to last.

In this muted twilight where phantoms now bloom
the clock strikes again the air ripples thick
awakening senses long buried in gloom
what was lost fades away new lives come to pick.

Awash in a tide of both dread and delight
as shadows relent to embrace tender dawn
with every tick back comes the dread of the night
yet from ashes of silence new life is reborn.

(from the works of Jason Carr)
© Jaycarr1971