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01-09 Impatient Slowing
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DailyPoetryProject The clock dismays at ticking out existence all the same.
Day to day it must remain unchanged in meter and refrain.
The timepiece growing ancient, as its pace has been replaced
by slowing days that amble vacantly while memories erase.
A low and shaking rumble making items fall from quaking
dusty shelves once taking pride in what they held, their grip forsaking
souvenirs and knick knacks, books of lore, pictures all fall to the floor
thrown assunder from the force of the clock’s hourly roar.
An hour takes two months to pass, a second takes a day
and as each tick creeps by in such a way so many chimes are saved
that by the time they get released so much inertia has increased,
they all come out at once and shake the house until the sound has ceased.
