Eternal Flux

In the realm of time, where moments melt like wax, A golden clock, once steadfast, now succumbs to decay. Its face, a mirror to the sky's warm, fiery hue, Reflects the transience of all that we hold true. The hands, once steady, now falter and stray, As if time itself is losing its way. The numerals, once clear, now blurred and faint, Echo the impermanence that life acquaints. In this surreal landscape, where earth and sky entwine, The clock's decay becomes a metaphor divine. For in its melting form, we see our own demise, A reminder to cherish each moment's fleeting surprise. As the clock's fragments fall, like autumn leaves to ground, We're called to reflect on time's relentless, winding round. And in the beauty of this ephemeral scene, We find the wisdom to live, to love, to let be seen.