Pocket Watch
The grandfather clock
Has lost its tick,
Last century\'s echo
Cradled in a closed palm.
Penknife
Blade dulled
From another continent\'s skin.
It whittled away hours,
Etched trails on maps long vanished.
Wooden Drawer
Swollen with secrets,
It cradles yellowed letters,
Breath of dust between each fold.
Rust Stains
Iron\'s blood
On the anvil of years,
Browning like autumn leaves
Pressed in a storybook.
Scratches
Witness marks,
Journeys scored deep
Where fingers traced,
And sweat mingled with wood.
This table—
A carpenter\'s silent testament;
My great grandfather\'s hands,
Worn smooth as river stones,
The infinite ticking of his heartbeats
Embedded in each grain.