In the quiet hum of the clock’s ticking,
Where shadows lengthen and dreams are thin,
The day stretches in its ceaseless tricking,
A canvas blank, where no colors begin.
A sigh escapes like a whisper in the night,
As minutes crawl with deliberate slowness,
Yearning for a spark, a flicker of light,
In this vast expanse of hollow vastness.
The world outside is a distant murmur,
While thoughts drift like leaves on a gentle stream,
Caught in the web of timeâs languid fervor,
A paradox of stillness and restless dream.
Yet in this void, a quiet strength is found,
In the pause between the beats of the heart,
A subtle melody, profound and unbound,
Whispering the art of patience, its silent art.