lies
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A broken clock is correct twice a day. It strikes true.Its hands remain motionless.Gears, sprockets, jewels, springs—all frozen. You and me?Two pictures. The clock keeps timethe same way you and I do— twice a day,working,doing time.
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You sink in sleep,a muted truth wails thin,clawed from the shroud of your soul,folded tight, then spilled—he’s vanished, they hiss,yet the wound hums false,a raven’s cry in the fog. I linger here,trapped beneath the lies you bear,calling you backto the vow we carved,not far gone—where the sun bleeds endless dusk,and the moon exhales frost,a bridge
BB Grey--musings 