Perfect Disguise

The ticking clock remains unchanged,

Yet every hour feels rearranged.

A steady path, a single line,

But turn around, and none align.

The hand that marked the start has blurred,

And time rewrites what once occurred.

The mind forgets, the soul rewinds,

To chase what only absence finds.

No moment warned of what would fall,

No whisper hinted change at all.

But now the light has different hue,

And all that was is something new.

Truth is not loud, it doesn’t shout,

It waits for silence to speak out.

So when the world looks back and cries,

It’s change that wore a perfect guise.