timeless...
but ticking, ticking --
the clock, though old
continues to tirelessly toil,
doing it's work.
Chronos alive in a modern
machine.
the house had some rough times
but, still
the tock-tick can be heard
and as i lay my head
upon my pillow
i know it will remain
constant
and true.
the hands look
ugly..
those black limbs extend
and paint time's trace
upon bold numbers
and upon my face
and upon me.
A contest entry
- passing seasons by Nicolette.
2000 points, ended June 27, 2008, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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The ticking old clock reminds me of a similar clock we had in our house and how much my brother hated that clock, lol. He always said he can’t sleep with the loud ticking and that it reminded him at night of how time is slowly ticking away.
I got that same feeling from this poem… those “black limbs” that reaches behind the clock face and touches us, painting time on our faces – and our hearts. I liked the sounds here – nicely done. Thank you for your entry.
~ Nicolette
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The last two lines are very strong. But the poem as a whole is satisfying - I'm really diggin the alliteration and the idea is a clever one. Good luck in the contest!
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