A ticking clock creates driving rhythm
Stretching out each second til it’s complete
At the mercy of nature’s every whim
Making impressions in this soul’s concrete
The moon sets its monthly cycle in stone
Like a mirror set under open sky
Reflecting light across flesh and bone
Before spreading its leaden wings to fly
This desert life drives me to distraction
Conscious as it is of this ebb and flow
Yet dying with the setting of the sun
Wrapped up in all these ribbons and in bows
And when this clock past regrets ends its course
This tortured soul perchance shall feel remorse.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 