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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471708" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When The Clock Sojourns</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the Clock Sojourns</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grandfather's clock<br>Defunct, senile, and silenced<br>Loomed like a vertical demise<br>Rising in the muted corner<br>Or rather the clandestine core<br>Of the disembogued hearth<br>And I can tell in its scathed varnish<br>Of weary and eroding mauve<br>That it had once vied to emancipate<br>From the providence's dictates<br> And that was probably when<br>Its hands stopped from moving<br>The pendulum was now a lissome<br>Unwavering string to the grave<br>Of the clockwork's very soul<br>And although it never swings<br>Its phantom was undulating<br>Into the sloped paths of impasse<br>Swelling and bloating inexorably<br>Without beckoning the rousing<br>Of the prismatic night lights<br>Perhaps it was consumed<br>By the darkness of the hour<br>And in this unholy instances<br>Of the suppressing nights<br>I can still here the diurnal ticking<br>Of its moribund arms<br>And the infinitesimal gears<br>And their asunder whirring<br>Billowing in a haunted echo<br>Sojourned, like how it was once<br>Smoldering in zeal and alacrity<br>And the memories sank<br>Into the capricious sea<br>But not of the forgotten<br>Rather, of the evocative forgotten<br>A bandwagon of phantoms.<br>Halted but never liberated<br>The clocks never stops<br>It never even started<br>And you will realize this, flat and hollow, <br>When you understand that the clock<br>Only stirred when you had handed<br>Time, in your unbolted callused palms<br>And no one ever took it<br>As the nights will never permit<br>Nothing ever ends<br>Even when the clock sojourns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a><div class=q>
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The grandfather's clock
Defunct, senile, and silenced
Loomed like a vertical demise
Rising in the muted corner
Or rather the clandestine core
Of the disembogued hearth
And I can tell in its scathed varnish
Of weary and ero..."></div>
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