Clock ticks

book 15

Down hall

     in another room

a pendulum swings

     each second ticks


darkness reigns

     and dim glows

reflects barely

     on polished brass


quietly sit I

     slow passes time

in anguished thought

     answers are lost


seeking for

     things that I know

are not to be

     simply are not


darkness will not

     in the coming day

fade away

     will always be


continuing on

     knowing not where

no way is found

     where I would be


chimes the hours

     slipping away

in darkness now

     will always be

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arqios's picture

Adored clocks in the younger

Adored clocks in the younger years, even had a grandfather clock and a working original cuckoo clock. But then came the time when the ticking was like the incessant dripping of a leaky tap that in the end saw the offending clock bundled up in a beach towel and exiled in the washing machine which was located in the furthest opposite corner of the house, just to get a night's sleep.

here is poetry that doesn't always conform

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