The clock is not ticking.
The hour hand is severed from the mechanism,
The minute hand suspended forever at three minutes
Prior to whatever hour you’d like to supplement.
The second hand shows signs of life
Arrhythmically jerking to the right
When no one is aware.
The flow of the meter is dance-like,
Compound time with no boundaries
To measure beat.
There is no year to speak of
No influence of culture
No place to hurry to
Or reason to worry about
Allowing your heart to keep
The natural rhythm to measure your life.
The clock has been broken
For who-knows how long –
There is no reason to fix it.
Your time is measured in breaths,
Your worth is found in the Lord.
Not lost, nor slipping away,
But rather finally alive.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
The clock is not ticking.
The hour hand is severed from the mechanism,
The minute hand suspended forever at three minutes
Prior to whatever hour you’d like to supplement.
The second hand shows signs of life
Arrhythmically jerking to the right
When no one is aware.
The flow of the meter is dance-like,
Compound time with no boundaries
To measure beat.
There is no year to speak of
No influence of culture
No place to hurry to
Or reason to worry about
Allowing your heart to keep
The natural rhythm to measure your life.
The clock has been broken
For who-knows how long –
There is no reason to fix it.
Your time is measured in breaths,
Your worth is found in the Lord.
Not lost, nor slipping away,
But rather finally alive.
Request permission to use this poem