My hands are still
Stiff as the metal to which they embrace
Not a movement nor a sound
As my gears lay rusty in rot
I am the Silent Clock.

My opperations are a mess
My pieces do not fit
I am forever broken
An icon for what was and what is left
I, am the silent clock.

Dust collects upon my outer ridges
As I lay here so desperately needing an escape from my prison
Forever and always
Missing the piece in which you have stolen
And until you return to me and make me whole once more
I will remain the Silent Clock.

good write, welcome

Affectively moving ....great analogy

Loved it! It really spoke to me.

great job

Welcome to the poetry section, good write!

This has made me feel like you crawled into my head and heart and wrote down exactly what I am feeling and can't voice.

Amazing

thanks alot you guys really appretiate it