My Piece: Fleeing Time


Another one of my poems; this one’s a little darker. Still, hope you enjoy it. Feedback, questions, likes, etc. all is welcome.


There stands against the Easten wall,

A giant wooden clock,

It’s pendulum swings to and fro,

With a dull ticking, tock.


The sound is sharp and soothing,

It’s motions to and fro,

It counts off every second,

The every hour for you to know.


On the face are two hands,

On that giant clock,

Upon its face move tiny hands,

To the dull ticking, tock.


With quivering queer delight,

They make every minute,

The hour by day or night,

They tell to the second.


And as you sit in your chair,

Gazing on that clock,

Seconds of you life are fleeing past your empty stare,

At the sound of the Dull, Ticking, Tock.




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