I stand, a sentinel, hands ticking slow,
Watching moments come and quietly go.
Each second whispers soft, then fades away,
A fleeting guest that never dares to stay.

The hours stretch like shadows on the wall,
And yet, for me, they hardly move at all.
I mark the passage, steady, without pause,
A slave to time, bound tight within its laws.

The morning's light, the evening's fading hue,
They blur as one, a seamless thread I view.
Yet in each tick, a world is born, then dies,
A blink unseen, beneath the human eyes.

I watch, I count, while all around me spin—
The hurried lives of those who live within.
And though they rush, they never seem to see,
How still the passing time can feel to me.
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