Member Poem

The numbers burn where time has bled,
A dial deranged, a dream undead.
No hands to halt, no pulse to plead,
A clock unchained, a fate unfreed.

The gears, grotesque, grind dust to dawn,
Yet night remains—a yawning con.
Each second strains but never snaps,
A loop of echoes, laced in traps.

A hollow chime, a frozen knell,
The hour bends, begins to swell.
An ageless gasp, a breath misplaced,
A past that future can’t erase.

What price is paid when time won’t break?
The world unwinds, yet stays opaque.
We’ve left the edge, yet never fell—
An end postponed, a tethered hell.

The sky’s unstitched, the stars misdrawn,
Yet nothing shifts, and nothing’s gone.
Forever’s fracture fills the air—
No end exists, yet we are there.