As I pass through the hallway,
I hear the ticking of the clocks;
the tapping of the watch.
There's a step in my walk,
as I move from heel to toe.
Forwards, backwards.
I enter the room,
I'm greeted by the solemnness of the chair.
A glance at the clock,
its position on the wall,
so precise and careful.
I take a seat and lay down the strike of the pen.
The passing of the moment.
I take a look up at the hands,
they say to me:
"We only move one way".
A quizzical look.
"And what way would that be?"
Silence.
I put down the pen,
moving my eyes over what was written.
Mutterings
of marbled musings.
Tales
of scornful sorrows.
Words
of lyrical regret.
A thought spoken aloud:
"How did I come to be here?”
Another glance at those hands.
"How long has it been?"
The shortage of memory.
Only silence and
the passing of the moment.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
As I pass through the hallway,
I hear the ticking of the clocks;
the tapping of the watch.
There's a step in my walk,
as I move from heel to toe.
Forwards, backwards.
I enter the room,
I'm greeted by the solemnness of the chair.
A glance at the clock,
its position on the wall,
so precise and careful.
I take a seat and lay down the strike of the pen.
The passing of the moment.
I take a look up at the hands,
they say to me:
"We only move one way".
A quizzical look.
"And what way would that be?"
Silence.
I put down the pen,
moving my eyes over what was written.
Mutterings
of marbled musings.
Tales
of scornful sorrows.
Words
of lyrical regret.
A thought spoken aloud:
"How did I come to be here?”
Another glance at those hands.
"How long has it been?"
The shortage of memory.
Only silence and
the passing of the moment.
