There it lays, upon the mantle
the slowly swinging orb.
Back and forth, it glides with ease,
and time it does absorb.

The threat of bells, twice heard tonight
settles above my brow.
And it ticks on, one second gone.
The time eating monster prowls.

The pendulum, razor sharp to the touch
with edges of purified gold
slices open ready salted wound
"remember, you're still growing old."

Behind the ticks and tocks of sorts,
the clockwork is ever precise.
So, when the stout hand reaches an hour,
the ring sounds only twice.

To rely, to live or to die
according to a clock.
A pensive strife, to know my life
could end in one tick tock.