The Clock

It's just me, and the clock,
Staring face to face.
Its hands move in circles,
Mine stay in place.

I quietly listen,
As it whispers tick.
When it screams tock,
I draw back quick.

I watch carefully,
As the numbers stay the same.
The second hand moves forward,
Having no one to blame,
Keeping the same path.
It always remains tame.

The minute hand,
Suddenly jolts to the five.
The movement,
Makes the hand seem alive.

But only for a moment.

The hour hand,
Remains still,
Or so it seems,
It's movement goes unnoticed,
It moves on its own will,
And the clock's face still beems.

That is until,
A force brings it down.
No one sees,
No witness around.

As it falls,
It continues to talk,
Not knowing that it's saying,
It's last tick and tock.