My Old Alarm Clock
A metal shell, a face so plain,
With numbers bold in sun or rain.
The steady tick, a rhythmic beat,
Announcing hours bitter or sweet.
No gentle chimes, no subtle sound,
But a jarring buzz that shook the ground.
A sudden jolt, a rude embrace,
Dragging us from sleep's soft space.
We'd slap the top with sleepy hand,
To silence its insistent command.
A moment's peace, a hazy sigh,
Before the day began to fly.
That shrill alarm, a daily foe,
Yet part of mornings long ago.
A sound ingrained, a memory deep,
From slumber's hold, it would us leap.
Though digital screens now softly gleam,
And wake us with a gentler dream,
There's still a pang, a fleeting thought,
Of that loud buzz the morning brought.
The tick and buzz, a simple art,
That played its necessary part.
A noisy friend now left behind,
A memory etched within our mind.
©bfa040725
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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