24 April 2012
My home is darkness. I am dead. No life I feel in heart or head; No pleasant sound to soothe my ears. All but that one, through endless years...
But let me take you further back, To where my world began to crack; I sit; lament my sorry tale, Of which I shall this night avail.
Long, long ago, I sat at rest, My face was young, my clothing pressed. My home was filled with friends and light, And ne'er was there a silent night.
But as I watched one night drift by, I heard a quiet sound nearby, Soft at first, and then it grew: A muffled ticking out of view.
I searched the room, but could not find, A clock or watch of any kind, But as I wandered round the chairs, That tick... tick... ticking chilled my hairs.
Where came this curious clockwork noise? What caused this tick that so annoys? It vexed me greatly, I confess; But then at last: the answer guessed.
As I drew nearer to the wall, That ticking grew loudest of all, I pressed my ear, my head aside; I closed my eyes.. It lived inside!
Tick... tick... tick... a steady beat, Slow and patient, cold and neat. I could not fathom how could it be, Deep within stone masonry.
I called in craftsmen, experts all, But none could fathom that ticking wall. The days went on, no answers came; But still that ticking filled my brain.
Months rolled on, with no respite, That tick... tick... tick... all day, all night. I could not block it from my ears, And painful months... turned into years.
At last my mania overcame; I took a pickaxe to my bane, I smashed and sliced and chipped and heaved, But still no torment was relieved.
Tick… tick… tick… within that wall, Mocking my attempt to maul That wretched stone, as hard as steel, As day by day I chipped that seal.
Months to years of chipping through, Still that tick.. tick.. ticking grew, Until at last, One Hoarfrost night, My pickaxe broke that stone wall's might.
I dropped the axe, Feel to my knees. At last a hole in my disease. The tick… tick… ticking louder still; And from that hole: An icy chill.
I drew my hand close to that hole. Right to the edge, as dark as coal. And 'fore I could retract my fist... A skinless HAND had grabbed my wrist!
Yellow bones. warped and thin. Spiny fingers without skin. My hand pulled through, and then my arm, I fought to free myself from harm.
Then sturdy bricks just fell away, Crumbling backwards they decay, Pulled apart by second claw, As skinned and bony as before.
Through the rubble. Through the dust. Deep within a darkened crust. No light. No sound. My eyes unclear. That soulless ticking, close and near.
My senses cleared... Began to see - Something sitting close to me! I rubbed the dust clear from my eyes… There sat a SKELETON, with empty eyes.
Still holding fast upon my wrist, Its yellow skull began to twist, And fixed those long dead eyes to mine.. Its jawbone twitched. "..IT…. IS…YOUR... TIME..."
Such a weary, lifeless, chilling voice, But I could not move - I hand no choice. It moved its hand to skinless breast, And pointed in its empty chest.
And there it hung, deep inside; A silver pocket watch did hide. Tarnished black, so old and sick; And from it came that tick.. tick.. tick…
"…IT… IS….YOUR... TIME…" said the skull, Its voice unmoving, sad and dull; Two hollow eyes fell to its arm, Still grasping me with jagged palm.
Its grip drew tighter, tighter still, Its bones bit through my flesh, my will, And where it's fingers pierced me tight, ...My flesh began fall from sight!
I watched, no will to turn away, As from my bones my flesh did flay, Dissolving, burning, melting clear, I watched in horror, sick with fear.
Now up my arm the cancer spread, Across my chest, towards my head, I felt the skin and muscle peel, My life blood drying and congeal.
Ever down the horror leached, Until my legs, my feet, it reached. I cried out with most wretched moans, ...As I looked upon my yellow bones.
My Grim Reaper, released me now, And there above me, skull at bow, Took ticking watch from its inside, And deep in mine, He let it hide.
He backed towards the crumbled hole, His eyes upon me, black as coal. And with his yellow boney claw, He walled me in. Forevermore.
I feel it, deep inside of me. That cold and black machinery. I feel it rattle bones that click. I feel it's endless Tick... Tick... Tick.
My home is darkness. I am dead. No life I feel in heart or head; No pleasant sound to soothe my ears. All but that one, through endless years...
The Ticking • Opuss № I