Beneath a wounded London sky,
Two shadows stand where lost dreams lie.
A broken clock with shattered face
Still measures silence, still keeps pace.
The city breathes through mist and stone,
Yet every soul walks here alone.
Big Ben watches, dark and wise,
While storms are gathering in the skies.
Pages scattered by the wind,
Words of futures never pinned.
Moments fall like drops of rain,
Forgotten names, remembered pain.
And time that thief no hand can bind
Leaves only echoes in the mind.
Two men stare where daylight dies,
Searching truth in fractured skies.
For every hour the clock denies,
Another memory slowly dies.
Yet somewhere past the grief and fear,
A quiet voice is waiting near.
It whispers softly through the night:
“Even broken time holds light.”
