Time moves like a lost cause,
inept- clumsy, messily.
the new season comes in, oscillating.
daring to envelop a hurting heart,
the grandfather clock chimes.
At 12, comes healing.
Also at 12, comes doubt.
cascading off the precipice comes Time,
once again- bold and unapologetic.
This time it moves purpose,
and as the Clock strikes once more,
I stand on the cliff- wavering.
Shaking, but steady.
The breeze calms me.
There is freedom in the vastness.