Temporal Dissonance

In the realm of time, where moments melt like wax, A clock stands tall, its form in disarray. The face, a canvas of shifting hues, Reflects the turmoil of the passing muse. The Roman numerals, like skeletal hands, Reach out, as if to grasp the fading sands. The clock's body, once sturdy and strong, Now drips and drips, like a painting too long exposed to the throng. Of time's relentless passage, it succumbs to decay, Leaving behind a trail of fragments, like shattered dreams in disarray. Yet, in this decay, a beauty lies, A reflection of the transience that touches the skies. For in the melting clock, we see our own mortality, A reminder to cherish each moment's fragility. The landscape, a serene and peaceful hue, Contrasts with the clock's turmoil, a dichotomy anew. The sky, a kaleidoscope of colors bright, Echoes the clock's face, a mirrored sight. In this surreal scene, we find a truth profound, That time, though fleeting, leaves its mark, a memory unbound.