This is a single stanza of poetry I managed to conjure up today and felt like you might enjoy a bit of Spenserian style poetry!
I do have plans to expand this for I'm extremely pleased with the results so far and believe it could make for a wonderful piece.
Believed that there on the platform
my gaze was glued; on the hands of the round clock,
Which pierced, like halberds, and penetrated: as if to inform,
me of my vain attempt to try and lock
myself away from the cemetery and coffins knock.
As they lay, lifeless in the circular pantheon, who
can say that the clock’s numbers are not taking stock?
The guillotine falls on every minute as if to
accentuate the care free luggage, and my journey, en lieu.