The clock crawls slowly on tired hands,
Like footsteps sinking into sand.
The morning came in hopeful light,
But noon turned gold to muted white.
Tasks piled high like winter drifts,
Each promise made, a shadow shifts.
The hum of voices, phones that ring,
A thousand thoughts with broken wings.
Evening leans on aching bones,
The silence speaks in gentle tones.
A cup of dusk, a breath of gray—
You made it through a long, long day.
And in the hush before the night,
You find the stars still burning bright.
The weight you carried starts to fade,
For even marathons end in shade.
Michael J McCluskey 