There Is A Need To Repair The Hands Of The Clock
my days are turning into nights
and nights transformed into days
when you switch on
something switches out and you
seem not to understand
how the hands of the clock
are running
counterclockwise
not the usual clockwise clockwork
of the tic tac toe, this ticking of the stick
like a beating on your feet
it pains
to know that you are not asleep and then
all of them are soundly sleeping
and snoring
on the other side of your room
you take something to drink
and then you dream that your are dead
you run away from life
no one stops you no one tells you
stop, stop, stop this untimely demise
because we love you from the bottom of our needs
not funny anymore
you wish you do not wake up anymore
you wish you are transported in the world
where no one dies where no one lives
something constant like a straight line
and some blinking sounds
you swear you love the silence
you swear everything needs to be quiet
and so you will take it now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.