There’s a quiet heart upon the wall
that breaks the day in equal parts,
blind to the heavy tears that fall,
and careless of our weary hearts.
It treats a life like one quick breath,
counting the hours, cold and gray—
a gear that grinds away our breath,
where every second slips away.
And yet... time bends when passion burns,
and minutes stretch to touch the sky;
a single look, where longing turns,
can make a decade pass us by.
For all those weeks spent on routine
fade out like smoke in morning air,
while depth reclaims what life can mean,
and stays with us when we are there.
A clock measures duration, but depth counts time.
Winter returns, yet the clock keeps another season,
Holding one blue afternoon behind its patient hands
Inside its ticking, a forgotten garden still flowers,
Soft as the voice that once crossed the porch each year.
Pendulums know what memory will not confess: longing survives motion.
Every anniversary awakens a room the heart thought closed.
Remind me, old clock, why vanished hours continue to whisper.
timepieces
instant
minute by minute
exact
precision
increments
elementary
clockwork
exactness
second by second
the pendulum swings
s i l e n t l y
inside of it's chest,
the iron tongue
that can no longer move,
but the brass and copper wheels
have come to a rest,
and silence
curls its head like a cat.
they measured life
in little mouthfuls before,
dividing sunshine
from the encroaching shade;
for all our days
and all of the nights
that set a metronome
to save a warden
of the promises made
now the time beats
o u t s i d e
and spills out of service.
beyond the measure of years,
beyond the ringing of bells,
those seconds gone
never gain their temporary title,
breaking free
from the shackles of their prime.
sleep on, old custodian
in your wooden shell,
the rust has given way
to your frantic heart.
there are no more hours left
for you to narrate
where tick and tock
decay to rust.
“If you were to live forever or die right now, which would you choose?”
That question sat with me all afternoon
I tried to justify living forever
Which is easier said than done
I argued that I haven't lived enough
This book is only a quarter full after all.
The words form a puddle on the ground as they sputter from my mouth,
When I saw my reflection in the puddle
I realized I could die at any given moment
Nothing is promised.
I guaranteed myself just another moment
If I continue to sit here in silence.
If I don't move,
If I just listen,
And breathe
Maybe the clock will think twice before ticking.
the wind at his back
he may as well conquer worlds
(for) if not now, when
Time sits upon both of my shoulders with
white hands ticking promises right, opposite
red numerals counting down the left. Tock.
In this aging valley, this crevice dug by ambiguous stretches,
seconds trickle like months as years can flush like minutes.
An indecisive pendulum never makes a full rotation.
Redundant rhythm of tick tock
Acrid annoyance on this dismal day
Time travels at a prompt pace
Its hastening hands will swiftly spin
Fast forward... clicking clock
Tacit tongue like Poe's pendulum
With gripping grasp, the Swinging stopped
A coffin closed and sealed up tight,
A person here now out of sight.
A piece of paper final words,
Of things he said and left unheard.
Memories are haunting these rooms,
Not laid to rest inside his tomb.
We’ll weep, we’ll cry, we’ll try to hide,
But nothing stops the hurt inside.
Your wristwatch ticks, goes on and on,
Even after you're dead and gone.
Life goes on after reapers theft,
Even after your spirits left.
Because that watch will tick and tick,
But surely after we fall sick.
When we all rot and sit there dead,
That watch will rest its weary head.
But no that watch still left behind,
Ticks on and on for fate to find.
The death work clock, no heart no breath,
But will stand fast through life and death.
The watch still has no greater plan,
Then to observe the life of man.
Still as that watch will sing its song,
It can’t help but bring death along.
So please don't fear the ticking clocks,
It is not you but life it mocks.
There was a house.
There is a house.
There was a kite.
There is a kite.
There was a clock.
There is a clock.
When I
dig the earth
with a spade,
the earth falls into
the spade’s memoir.
The spade falls into
the earth’s memoir.
In the pond nearby,
a blue water-lily
does not fall
into anything.
It
calls out to the kingfishers,
saying,
Come,
have some fish and go.
On the wall, keeper of time,
The hands of truth continue to wind.
It ticks with the steady beat of my heart—
A loud, continuous nudge,
A reminder: "Remember you must die."
The hands of a clock mirror our life.
With each swing of the pendulum,
A little less time.
Each second, a moment closer to demise,
As the sun sinks low in the western sky.
Fear not your shadow; accept the night.
The clock keeps winding,
As the daylight turns to night—
With each tick, clarity speaks softly
Purpose shines brightest just before midnight
As time fades away-
Embrace the fallen night
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
Wake up
School
Sleep
Just like clock work
It never changes
Never ends
I wonder what would happen
If i were to leap
Off the edge
But i wont
Ill never try
Ill never take the leap
To end my life
I love myself
And thats no lie
So why would i
Say goodbye
But i dont love life
And ive tried
Ive tried
Ive tried
Ive tried
But you can love yourself
And still try to fly
the old clock stirs at midnight,
its single chime a trembling breath.
a moth drifts close as if to ask
what time remembers after death.
a small clock breathes once
on the edge of the shelf~
slow exhale, lifting the dust
as if time were tired
of holding still
The hours passed like seconds
And stripped our youth away
The years they passed like miles
From the window of a plane
As life goes on and ticks away
And the glass runs out of sand
The hours pass like seconds
Times a curse upon this land
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