The Moment a Clock Died

The clock fell silent on the kitchen floor,

fractured glass cracked like brittle skin,

hands frozen forever at three-seventeen.

Light spilled weak and ragged through the blinds,

dust motes caught in stillness,

a broken promise in scattered shards.

No ticking to fill the space where it lived,

just the echo of time held hostage

in a fragile frame, stopped cold,

lying quiet among bills and old mail.

The day starts again,

while this clock remembers nothing—

a dead pause where time forgot to turn.