It is like a china cup, cracked,
if you see it, give it water.
Uselessly it hopes to hold on to what slips away
It is empty.
It is like amber glass, aged,
if you gaze through it, it lies to you beautifully
of a golden world on the other side
It is false.
It is like a broken clock in an empty room, ticking,
tick tick thump thump, but the hands don't move forward.
In the morning it will die, alone,
Unable to change.
It passes on.
What am I?
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