Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy WritingNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy WritingNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Temporal Displacement

It sits at the base of the stairs that lead to the attic; It sits on the landing floor just before the basement door; It rests in a liminal space. Big, person-sized, it fills the end of the hall way in the very back. Carved by an entrepreneur de pompes funèbres with a knack for carpentry and a deep undying love for her husband. Glass inlaid reveals the gears within, once plated in bronze but now with only a dull luster. They haven't been treated gently by that which they keep. Two massive pendula swing back and forth, back and forth, alternating currents, propelled by springs set in motion long before Louis XIV lost to William III The children like to sit and watch the hands spin with the pendula "tick" "tock" "tick" as the face and hands are a mottled bronze to match. During Black Mass it's best not to watch though. For sometimes a smell emanates from the spaces between the gears, "kcit" "kcot" "kcit" si lla uoy raeh, dna emit seog sdrawkcab.
Request permission to use this poem
Written by
RustingRoses
M
For You?
Written by
RustingRoses
M
Published
Sep 27, 2018
Lines·Words
36·175
Notes

When will it be Halloween?

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell RustingRoses how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write