I’m locked in a room. There is no bed. Only stone, cold stone. Stone floor, stone walls; I’m buried under stone. A grave, a living death. There is no light. I know this world by fingertip. The coarse stone, the cold stone.
I know this world by another thing. There is a pendulum. I hear it. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Sometimes, in the darkness, I see it moving. When I reach out my hand, all I feel is stone. I feel the stone, the vision’s gone, but I still hear, on and on, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Time’s entombed with me under shadowed stone.
Tale Told 