The clock's hands dance,

like they are in a ceaseless waltz.

With every beat,

it guides us towards the inevitable passage of time,

to an unknown destination.

Perhaps, a destination out of this labyrinth.

It reminds us,

Our bodies are mere dust and shadow.

But, do we become the whispers in the gentle breeze?

Or, merge with the ripples in a tranquil sea?

Or, linger like a haunting spirit?

It's not that we're certain of what lies after,

But, the thought of an afterlife is a comfort for hearts heavy with woe.

The clock's relentless ticking reminds me that our time is bound.

Confronting the existential void,

I pondered:

Did I cast my echoes into the canyon of history,

or did they fall on deaf ears?

Did my verse made an impact on the life's play?

Did I suck out the marrow out of life or merely existed?

For in the end, as the clock's hands align,

And, as we lay cold on the soft brown earth,

with the clouds moving above our head;

We find echoes of our questions, evermore.