Shadows creeping, crawling close
Gnawing 'pon thoughts most morose
Control a fleeting, fickle thing
Embracing monsters, teeth and wing.


With eyes wide shut, so very tight
Discerning both the left and right
Time refuses hands and hours
Atop the highest of clock towers.


Tick. Tock. Whir. Wind.
Skinned. Pinned. Before. Behind.



Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Scarlatan, in the year 738 AF.