Father Time snatched at his throat
So long he had ached for the reaper
He glances at his watch, watching for the dear cold breath of death to breath on him, its 12pm
He is still despite the chaos around him,
They do not sence the tick of sounds like a clock, tocking so close,
They scrub the floor (he is bed ridden), cook the meals (he has not touched a drop for days),
They dare not attempt to share vocal intercourse, he has no time to talk.
Father Time is a tease
He bellows 'I will torture you some more'
He lets him see the past, his past
So playfully performed in the presence of his mortality he is stunned,
He sees the armed assasin he was, shrouded in clunky armour
He views with a smile the ballerina he bedded one crazy night in Berlin.
He sees his own vanity, his pride, his happiness shift,
He sees this all as the maid cleans the shit off his sheets.
Father Time says today will be the day,
He smirks, he is ready.
His eyes flicker but no cigar
One more day
One more restless day.
Author notes
I saw so much in the picture, but it struck me as a man waiting for death and viewing some aspects of his life played out in front of him. Maybe too simplistic.
A contest entry
- Weird Art by Pollycheck.
450 points, ended June 25, 2007, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
DOES IT EVEN MAKE SENCE
Comments
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This is a well written piece and you tell a very good tale with it. You did not however include the image or a link to the image that you were given. I also noticed a couple typos in it.
They do not sence the tick of sounds like a clock, tocking so close,
Should be:
They do not sense the tick of sounds like a clock, tocking so close,
He sees the armed assasin he was, shrouded in clunky armour
Should be:
He sees the armed assassin he was, shrouded in clunky armour
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