The Unheard Toll of the Silent Meter

Inside the useless grey box,
where time measures energy no more,
sleeps the meter, a number now escaped
from every run, from every unseen way.
Its gears, mute and rusted through,
keep an echo of ancient steps,
no longer volts, no longer defined watts.

Yet, in the still and rarefied air,
a subtle ticking still vibrates,
stubborn memory, broken promise,
of another life, of a free force.
It is not the flash of living current,
but the ghost of a lost calculation,
a shadow algebra that still arrives.

It is the whisper of a journey never ended,
of the current that danced unknown,
an extinguished number, but not asleep,
a faint trace that still revolves.
The unheard tolling, without a jolt,
mute witness to a past flow,
its existence, now only moved
by an uncalculated beat of soul.