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Poem

It ticks , ticks , ticks like a clock
          I am nine and I know
it demands something 
          but what ? am I suppose to rush to do ?
It sits on the piano
     and demands my attention
but my attention has long since gone elsewhere
          at three I would have listened
          my fingers would have danced to its beat
but I'm now nine and the time
         that has demanded my attention
has been filled with distance , distrust
     abuse , and the insistence of law
do this , don't do that , don't talk
     don't run , just walk
absolutely absolutely DON'T TALK
          at three I heard the music
                    at nine music no longer exists
in my life , only for those who could hear it 
in my life the tick tick tick
     means far more than rhythm
it means if I don't get this something 
done RIGHT NOW I can expect something
                   very unpleasant 
Here that tick means time 
          and what must "get" accomplished
no rhythm and it's glorious dance 
          a poetry of tones
          a dance of resonance 
like the clear ripples in a pond
and one note , one stone  , can move
          everything in it's path
But life here is one solid stone wall
          unmovable , cold , stone
nothing I know at this age 
          can transform stone
          into a resonating energy
that can complete the cosmos I live in
          So , yes I had one recital 
and rejected the metronomes influence
          timing may be everything
But I am human
          and I must account for it
                at my own speed

Nov 2014 C Michael Miller
Poetry of Providence

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