The Heart of Time

The ticking is lost in the wind,
dreams of becoming nothing,
unraveling through the fingers of a dream,
yearning to escape the present.
Every second, a wave that fades away,
in silence that does not listen,
its beat becomes a breath,
in the desire to be something else.
Wavering through the minutes, a wandering sphinx,
vainly seeking support in eternity,
but time slips by, subtle and careless,
leaving an echo of pleasure and regret.
In the heart of a clock, hidden,
a soul is lost in its own beat,
dreaming of being just an instant,
before time drains it all away.