A strange kind

Do you hear it? That constant clicking, like ticking. It is not a clock. It’s a strange kind of wheel. Reluctantly, moving backward. Never retracing its turn or spin, or even the roads that it travelled before. Can it ever be true, the word ‘before’. It’s a strange kind of lie. Almost the truth, but still a lie. Do you feel it? That constant chipping, like shredding. It is not a machine. It is a strange kind of breeze. Blowing against your soul. Never stopping to breathe or pause, or even change direction. Can it ever be true, the word ‘change’. It is a strange kind of a fixation. Like shadows on a rock in the fading light – they shift gently. Can they ever be true, shadows?  Lurking in the light. It is a strange kind of humming. A never-ending song. Do you hear it?