The Clock

Tick tock,
The clock gently spoke,
To the empty walls of oak,
In the house rested by the coast of rock.

Tick tock,
The clock made its croak,
Echoing across the old house to invoke,
Of old stories seen through countless midnight stroke.

Tick tock,
The clock then broke,
into its sad lullaby of yoke,
of the loneliness time had stoke.

Tick....
and the clock no longer tock,
under the tides of aching time that flogs,
Returning to the silence it rightfully had docked.

Only the sounds of breeze by the coast remain,
And memories of an old man's life that was once retained,
His heart finally stopped like an old clock that lost its vane.