The pale emptiness broken

By the sliver of the silver pen.

Frozen like the handle

Of an ancient clock.

It draws over the smooth

Expanse of empty, endless space

Frozen in the time it stands.

Moving seeminglessly with a cause,

With the purpose of creating.

Like a spell being cast

The lines take shape

Into a broken-down clock

Frozen as time comes to life.

The clock chimes the hour

When dusk has passed.

It chimes the hour

When nights sets in.

It chimes, chimes, chimes the hour

When the lights go off and

Night time wakes.

It chimes, chimes, chimes the hour

The hour that does not exist.

It chimes the hour

Where there is no hour

So time can come to life.