Author: Rick Ryckman
The clock spins back the hands of time embracing me.
Grief like a piece of sand slowly slips from the hourglass.
What will release this yoke?
Where will I find a barrier to stop my fears?
The demons lunge forward strong as lightning.
The incessant nightmares have left their stain.
The hangman holds the frozen rope.
As the blade falls from some forgotten time.
My weary and frighten soul is at rest.
Withered autumn leaves wrap around my tombstone.
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