The Clock Speaks
You curse me.
Call me a thief, a tyrant,
a cruel hand pulling you forward.
But I am not your enemy.
I don’t steal your life—
You scroll endlessly,
fingers tapping, eyes glazed,
feeding seconds into a bottomless void.
You work yourself to exhaustion,
chasing a future you can’t hold,
living for weekends
that vanish before you notice them.
Counting each tick as though it’s a whip,
and each step as though it’s a race.
You chase the future,
but your feet are planted here.
You fill every moment with noise,
but that’s not living.
That’s running.
Running from the silence,
Running from the truth you’re too afraid to face:
You don’t know how to be still.
I give you the now,
but you waste it chasing shadows.
You pour hours into screens,
into things that will never love you back.
You trade your days for money,
then spend it on distractions
to forget how empty you feel.
And yet, you blame me.
You call me cruel for moving forward,
for not stopping when you beg me to.
But I am not the problem.
I have always been here,
steady, constant,
offering you everything.
You race toward the future,
but it’s nothing more than a mirage.
You claw at the past,
but it’s already dust.
The now—this fleeting second—
is all you’ll ever have.
But you can’t see it,
can you?
One day,
when your hands are too weak to scroll,
when your legs can no longer run,
you’ll finally look around
and realize what you’ve lost.
Time didn’t betray you.
You betrayed yourself.
So stop.
Feel the weight of your breath,
the pulse in your chest,
the ground beneath your feet.
Time isn’t slipping away.
It’s waiting for you to notice.
Because in the end,
I won’t mourn you.
I won’t stop for you.
I’ll just keep moving,
constant as ever.