The first image above is by NapaneeGal via Weekend Wordsmith, the second is by h.koppdelany via Read Write Poem. They're eerily resonant, I think.
You don't expect an angel to age
hair turning to snow under the relentless pendulum.
You don't expect a child to die
and lie spread-eagled in the dirt
clutching a broken toy.
You don't expect an angel to die
and lie broken on the pendulum like a child's toy
or a child spread-eagled in the snow.
In the center of the clock-face, a faceless figure
bends over, fleshless face half-hidden by its cowl
and strips away the flesh. In the land beyond
the dark boat, the fleshless meet the dark.
Pendulums might as well be scythes
and snow angels, skeletons. The faint impression
of a child's body in yesterday's snow
is ghost enough for a legion of mediums.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside