Original Sonnet #2

ddfbceb943b9543ffa9be917016d6479A 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.



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