At midnight, my mirror sighs.
It echoes down the dusty hall.
A tired sound, crawling along
distempered, worn out walls.
Replacing broken chimes
From frozen clocks with rusty hands,
I hear time called but once a day
It tells my aging mortal frame
My line of fate unravels in frayed
and fading strands.
(Image & Words: Matt Baldwin-Ives)