The clock face ever moving,
Relentless is its way,
And gentle sands of time do tick,
So gently do they sway.
Gusts upon the stirring breeze,
Bracing and refined,
Take the air to sea and land,
Yet never undermined.
The omnipresent friend is time,
It watches on our way,
And guides us to antiquity,
And gentle middle age.
So we bury our bones in peace,
Parting company,
And always still we find with ease,
The way from inner beasts.
What did you think
Comments
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very interesting. I really enjoy the way you write, it flows so natuarlly but still holds rhyme. I really enjoyed your poem. For some reason, the first two lines about the clock reminded me of that famous painting with all the clocks melting. I like how you started with clocks and time, and you end it with burial, the end of time, and not enough time. Very interesting, I enjoyed.
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