Melody Without Time

An old clock, upon the wall is silent,
Its hands are still, a breath that’s absent.
No longer the tick-tock time can trace,
Just deep and eloquent silence in its place.
But in its heart, of weary gears confined,
It is not nothingness, but an echo defined.
Of laughter and tears, of moments long since spent,
A memory that time has never bent.
It is a song without notes, a fragile whisper low,
Of hours lived, of slow departures and ebb flow.
Every stolen instant, a treasure unseen,
Resounds in its shell, forever keen.
Thus the stopped clock, a silent bard so grand,
Tells a story of what was and what will stand.
Its secret song, within the heart is felt to be,
The true melody that time can never flee.