The clock’s low murmur never seems to wait,A thief that steals the sunlight from the door.We learn too late that time is not our fate. The morning’s gold dissolves to ash by eight;The plans we made are ghosts on yesterday’s floor.The clock’s low murmur never seems to wait. We beg the hour to linger, stand …
It is the stubborn ember in the night,The thing with feathers, perched yet never tame,The forward pull that bends the dark to light. When reason says to surrender the fight,It whispers just a single, constant name:It is the stubborn ember in the night. It is the root that grips the shattered height,The hidden rhythm in …