John Anderson Poet Rhyme

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The Analogue of Ticks Missed

I miss the tick-tock heartbeat, the chiming in the hall.
Watching the slow clock hands glide shadows on the wall.
The seconds hand circling, its clicks beating a song,
Time was something you watched; it carried you along.

I miss the clatter of typewriters, banging on their keys,
Whir of tape spools whining, vinyl discs spinning to please.
The flip calendar flopping forward, page after page,
When time was a living thing, not digits in a cage.

Now silence haunts the corners where ticking used to sing,
Digital screens of numbers flash cold, as unfeeling thing.
Yet I miss the winding, waiting, watching for the flow. 
The rhythm, sounds, vision, and movement of times long ago.

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