Palindrome
Odd, our relationship.
Who am I to know
what normal is,
I hear *that voice*,
a reminder, an alarm,
beating in my ear-what I am not.
Those lips have yet to give me
the gift of what I have yet to hear-
you are not *that voice.*
This day, tomorrow,
a mechanical
marble
lost amongst all those just alike
whom are all too familiar with today.
Time - so much time. Gone.
So much time. Empty.
So much time- lost to chasing
a moment that has no time for this.
Yet- I wait, for time,
like a child standing outside the window
of a candy store-
these eyes piercing the Sign.
Closed Now, but it will be Open soon,
I know it will! right?
Pockets full of ignorance,
my eyes blind by want,
my heart naive- pleasure dependent
upon a taste-
And like that of time-
a taste dissolved,
a taste no more.
And there I stand, Mechanical.
Alone with that Sign,
a Palindrome.
Copyright © Deniece Harbaugh | Year Posted 2016
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