The Silence After Ticktock

 

The Silence After Ticktock
by: Jazmyn Alexa Ataylar

 

Ticktock, ticktock…

I watched the moment drift beyond the clock.

As its hands moved clockwise,

memories kept passing by

like a piano that had lost its tune.

Too frail to leap, I let the sound consume my soul.

The ghost of “what would be”  won the show,

and followed close to haunt my sleep each day.

 

Memories turned into nightmares that wounded me.

I hear its whisper—ticktock, ticktock—when night is near.

A breath of might have been chills my bone.

It feeds on every choice I made in fear,

and leaves me captive

to the seeds I’ve sown in silence.

 

And I am here again,

facing the clock.

Ticktock, ticktock…

Oh, if only risk had found a place in me,

the path I lost might bloom with light and fire.

But here I walk with specters I alone can see,

the ghost of life denied by my desire.

 

Chains of doubt were forged by my own hand.

They bind me fast to shadows I once fed.

 

And in a single snap

the clock falls silent.

Its batteries die,

its hands freeze.

 

The memories I craved

lose their track.

What was almost said

remains unsaid.

 

The clock has stopped.



What happens when the ticking of time becomes a ghost of regret, and what silence remains when the clock finally stops?

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