Literature
No More Time.
Clockworks wind down;
a knell of time running out.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
I feel it approaching;
icy touch,
no breath,
nary a sound.
I know it is coming,
closer,
from far away,
to close.
What do I feel?
Fear?
Dread?
What should I feel?
I knew this was to be.
I wrote it like this,
so long ago.
The Reaper?
Death?
No much worse.
Songs of threats,
veiled in lyrics of amore.
The dance continues;
the advance,
the equal move back.
A spin,
one step,
two steps,
closer and closer.
Hands and arms
encompass me.
Grip like iron;
cold,
obsessed,
no love,
only conquest.
Holding me.
Paining me.
Drawing me in so tight.
I cannot cry,
I cannot breath,
I made a