PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There's this tiny Muscle ticking like clock made of wrecking balls,
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick, tick, tick, tick - bubble, bubble down
Irrational thoughts to drown this meadow trampled on by bulls and sows
A smart ass and mist fit take all your foolshit, leave it on the meadow with the bullshit.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick, tick, tick, tick - bubble, bubble down,
Plucking away at my vanity it pops up whereever I go like a deep thrombosis,
I look to the skies, looking for hope but the metaphorical birds with strings are tied,
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick, tick, tick, tick - bubble, bubble down
I laugh in the light that all these things in contexts require plucking,
envy a mind so sharp sees it first and just the same.
The echos ring in my head - Birds... Strings, ties, lies... and other things plucked instead of played?
Damn there's a poem in that and in that I despise- I must tugging at the clot vainly,
Aggravated I take comfort in the lines I took wondering where the lie fits...
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick, tick, tick, tick - bubble, bubble Pop!
Hope suddenly blooms injecting a change, it belongs here in my self disdain.