The hour does not pass
When the heart is troubled
It hangs over, and hovers,
Like a dark, dull, grey shadow above our heads.
The wretched hour won’t pass
And the clock shall tick ever slowly
As if counting the breaths I take
Waiting for it to stop.
The furious thumping thud against the ticking
The heart is tired,
Though it is still young.

The hour does not pass,
The lurking shadows are dark.
The night is cold. The innumerable stars
Appear dulled. Clouded.
Time passes slowly, and I wait,
Ever still, silent and solemn,
For it to tick away,
And the warmth of the golden sunshine to
Fill my heart.
And renew my soul,
For a fresher start.
Let the haunting be gone,
Let there be light.