The Clock Moves On
A bridge unbuilt, a vow once broken.
The clock moves on — no pause, no grace,
And soon resolve is out of place.
You saw the path, the light was clear,
But fear or doubt held you too near.
By the time you stepped to act,
The door had shut — the moment lacked.
What use is wisdom, sharp and right,
If wielded in the fading night?
A hand extended after fall
Cannot reverse the silent call.
For choices bloom in seasons tight,
A dawn misplaced gives way to night.
Even the just, if made too late,
Are but the echoes of regret and fate.
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