Counting Down

The clock on the wall ticks in measured refrain,

a heartbeat of time, each second a chain.

In the café's stillness, I sense the decay,

a reminder that moments slip quietly away.

I sip on my coffee, bitter and hot,

while dreams hang like leaves, caught in a knot.

The ticking feels urgent, a drum in my chest,

a constant reminder that life won’t rest.

What have I left idle, what dreams on the shelf?

With each passing tick, I confront my own self.

Will I rise with the dawn or dwell in the night,

as the clock's hands spin, tracing shadows from light?