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The clock keeps ticking on,
piercing the shield of my mind.
It ripples through once-calm waters,
always with the threat of the impending hour.
The thirteenth hour,
a chime no one else can hear.
the chime that takes hold of all hopes
dreams, liberties, experiences, and goals,
and throws them all away, engulfing them
in it's shattering sound.
It's the sound of finality,
and it consumes us all, sooner or later.
So don't just sit there and watch the cars pass by.
Chase that thing that you can't afford to lose.
Because when it's all said and done
you'll want to embrace the thirteenth hour,
not perish in it's ever-looming shadow.
I guess a life of ease isn't meant for a sinner like me.
reflecting, and dejecting memories aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Down
To

The waters



(   Again   )

•••

I have forgotten

(. I have been livin
In vain  )

I can not even
Remember your name


Days of war engulf us

The ways of all these enemies

mankind is surely
Beaten and betrayed

••

(   Come home dear child   )

••

Down to the water

Bath in the sacred water
Know the power of your soul

Know it!



(  again  )
 Mar 2014 Jessica Head
Riken
It's been a while
Since I last saw you
Where have you been?
What have you seen?

What crawls through your head
That no one can understand
Not even me?
I often wonder just how personal
all that we were actually was.
I really don't like question marks. I suppose it's because I live in the curve of one
venturing out, early morning -
closer to pre-noon - for smokes
and beer. seeing the gathered
rain in ditches, watching how it
flows by how the mud ebbs.
standing at side of road waiting
to cross as a layer of water develops
on jacket. gas station, gave the
woman a ten. she returned a ten and
three saying it was a twenty given;
corrected her, felt like a ****. left the
ten on counter and exited. standing,
waiting to cross again, cop, cop. they
continued on. ( funny, the things
noticed after a long night ) crossed the
road and walking in a self-conscious
manner, cop. sharp right through
apartment complex onto washed-out
back alley. an old stomping ground.
came up sixty five cents short for beer,
and owner smiled,
        'We'll scrape it out of
               the vacuum.'
not sure if he understood the
magnitude of my appreciation.
 Mar 2014 Jessica Head
r
To ocean's roar--the sea oats dance
To music of--nor'easter's glance
Holding fast on--windswept seashore
Lending hand to--rippled dunes' chore

Paniculata's--feathered lance
Leaves not the sand--to nature's chance
To leave in dunes--an open door
To ocean's roar

Sea oats seeking--perfect balance
Barren beach and--storm's dalliance
Shorebirds nesting--while sea gulls soar
Still ocean tries--and shouts for more
Sea oats bending--yet still they dance
To ocean's roar

r ~ 9Mar14
Minor beach erosion from recent storm. Sea oats holding fast.
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