Eternal Meltdown

In the realm of time, where moments slip away, A golden clock stands, its essence grey. Roman numerals mark the passing hours, As it melts, like memories in devouring flowers. The landscape weeps, a reflection so serene, A body of water, where time is seen. The sky above, a canvas of blue and gold, A surreal dance, where time grows old. The clock's hands move, yet time stands still, A paradox of moments, lost and fulfilled. The melting form, a metaphor so true, For the fleeting nature, of me and you. In this dreamlike scene, we find our fate, A reminder to cherish, the moments we create. For in the melting clock, we see our own, Mortality, and the time we've known.