Frozen Seconds

Dust gathers slowly on a stopwatch still,

its hands frozen mid-movement, time’s cruel thrill.

I pick it up gently, a relic of haste,

how quickly it measures the moments we waste.

Each tick could tell stories of laughter and cries,

of seconds that linger, of whispers and lies.

Yet here it now stands, in silence profound,

a testament to all that’s lost in the sound.

I glance at the numbers, their meaning obscured,

reminders of moments when life felt assured.

But time’s heavy weight holds me close in a bind,

I ponder the seconds, and what’s left behind.