The amorphous tock

 

The grand

cosmic time piece

sits in its place

in the palace created

by the scattering dust

of eternal echoes.

 

The gears twist,

the gentle click

of a galactic cog

joining another

in hand-holding

harmony.

They twist

together.

 

It ticks.

 

A sound echoes across the cosmos.

 

It ticks.

Not in seconds,

not hours, nor days,

not weeks, nor years.

It ticks in millennia.

It ticks once then

the sound travels so far.

 

In the silent stirs

of an empty dream,

the timekeeper sleeps,

not disturbed,

by the almost

silent sound, not alarmed

at the passing of time.

Unaware of

the ticking of a clock,

as it shifts so slickly,

it stays quiet

until you focus on its hands,

when you finally hear it

 

Tock.

 

The grand cosmic timepiece looms

in the palace formed

of unspoken alien nightmares,

in the shattered crystal

of endless screams.

The megalithic gears

twist menacingly into place.

A clunk. As the thudding

pneumatic drill of time pushes

its way through the cogs.

Grinding catastrophic resonance

echoing its crazed distorted song

into the everlong amorphous creation.

 

The timekeeper wakes

from the labyrinthine

void of sleep,

and screams.