Hands of Time

The clock is ever ticking
Every second taking your life
And every time a hand moves,
Something happens, mostly strife

As her time moves by slowly
She stares at the broken soul
With palms streaked in blood
She feels way too old

Time moves faster
And the pieces seem to stare
They start to come together
Leaving her hands bare

Soul now complete
No scars mar the glass
And as time goes on
She starts to forget the past

As she stares at the soul
She wonders if it was ever broken
Or if she just wanted to fall

Reviews

[Sethnicity]

Liked this one more than the last!
Great write, a Cheers to you and a Toast to pass!