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  • Writer's pictureMichael Bastianelli


In a town where shadows crept,

And the moon itself had wept,

Stood a clock with quite a knack,

For stealing souls with every tick-tock-tack.

The clock, it whispered in the night,

With secrets black and tales of fright,

Each tick and tock, a haunting beat,

An eerie rhythm of lost souls' deceit.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock did sing,

As midnight's chime began to ring,

A soul it took, and then another,

No one was safe, not friend nor brother.

In the darkness, the children shivered,

As the wind through the tree limbs quivered,

The clock it grinned, its hands did spin,

Another soul to add to its grim din.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, it stole them away,

From cradles, beds, and places they lay,

The town grew still, the shadows deepened,

As the clock's dark curse, the families steepened.

No one knew how to break its spell,

As the clock took souls, a never-ending swell,

Parents held their children near,

Wishing for a savior to appear.

Then, one night, a stranger came,

With eyes ablaze like a wild flame,

He stood before the clock's dark face,

Ready to end its soul-stealing race.

He whispered words with hopes to quell,

The clock's dark power, its wicked spell,

But as he chanted, the clock did laugh,

Its hands spun faster, sealing their path.

The stranger's words had come too late,

The clock's dark power could not abate,

Each tick-tock sealed the town's dark fate,

As the stranger fell before the clock's dark gate.

In the end, the town lay still,

Forever bound by the clock's dark will,

No laughter, no joy, only silence remained,

As the clock's power continued, unchained.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock did sing,

Its haunting tune, an eternal ring,

A warning now, for those who near,

The town where darkness consumed all it could hear.

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