Atop the curve of a carved stone dome,
well gilded by rays of many setting suns,
Fortune pirouettes and prances all alone
while her clockwork wheels rhythmically run.

With each new tick of her timeless clock,
she spins the drivewheel another round
and dances ’round the clockwheels’ cogs
in freedom, from our cares unbound.

The spring in her step drives clock’s time,
a rhythmic dance with outstretched hands
that point to sorrows or high cloud nine
as suits her music: She won’t come to a stand.

Would that we could pass the years
like Fortune, a lady unwound by our fears.

What-if-that-dream-we-
had-where-we-are-all-
fall-
ing-
is-
sim-
­ply-
the-
coll-
ect-
ive-
sub-
con-
sci-
ous-
of-
our-
**-
me-
pl­a-
net-
call-
ing?
The
lad-
der-
to-
cli-
mb-
bac-
k-up-
see-
ms-­
to-
go-
on-
for-
ever-
and-
the-
clo-
ck-
at-
the-top-keeps-on-
­striking-ten-past-never.

© poormansdreams

It took an abstract realization,
something that I had never noticed ever before.

Where there was a semblance of monotony
there existed the essence of change
the actuality of reality
even to the smallest degree, such as the subtlety of how fast, or slow, my locks grew,
in centimeters.

Oh!
The informative nature of such a nuance amplified my rage!

Teenage angst was somehow removed with its perpetual sway
it crawled slowly constantly prompting our celestial commander to descend
solar illumination abated
nocturne shielded its rhythmic gait in a way
the presence of this frame cordoned off at 15 years
that made its movement seem a hasty thing
in its grip, initially, I was a child
now, I am a man
I lavishly lament the awkward promptness of anything I have gained.

All in due…

Was I due to manage it?
Over moons, many a pressured slumber
I rest still
my education
my locks that grew
subtle that pace
wisdom I have gained
that familiar melody of change
the alpha that arose
until omega was due to settle the earth
hands, arms, that consistently illustrate the change – “tick, tick, tick”
oh, that familiar tune it plays.

Being older,
my eyes can detect its forceful ways
unsubtle
however, I can manage it
I force it to behave.
Although, it still has me bound tightly within its clutch forever
yet, still,
I have synchronized our pace
the older I become it grips my hand tighter
together we are trekking my lifeline
now, I comprehend it.

Now I have time.

Jonah Singleton 2024

I open my eyes, look up at the clock,
which now, unbeknownst to me,
ticks backwards.

I sigh, gazing at the window,
only to be met with the sun
setting like a stranger,
unwilling to share its grief
as it had done before,
with its awry, dark clouds
and tear-streaked face.

The flower pressed
between the pages of a book I once read,
now lay wilted.

It was, I reckon
too late to realize,
the stars that once graced the nights,
now were lifeless and forgotten.

Glancing down at my bloodstained hands,
and the hollow shell of a person
that once bore my name,
my piteous heart dripped
with forlorn anticipation.

It was then,
when I heard the whispered hums of a dirge,
the very disdain coating my guilt,
That I had once vowed to purge.

From the start,
it wasn’t the wilted flower,
or the lifeless stars,
that were dead--
it was me,
the person who I was before.

Distance means nothing
When someone means everything
It's not a long distance
When the universe doesn't exist
The clock is not working
There is no time
We can dance in the snow
Only if you want

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0 and repeat]

We
fit toge
ther seamlessly
like the numbers on
a digital alarm clock,
moving without hesi
tation, from one figure to
the next, a movement of time transi
tioning,  unsettling, unnotica

bly building on and constructing ourselves
within the construction of time
itself. We are the only
static constant, the on
ly reliable source:
time keeps moving
forward, and
so will
we —

The clock is still there in the wall
But no-body is there in the room
to see whether it's hands move.

What good of knowing the exact time
When none has time
The ryhms of our child-hood, we had left
in the green-field decades before.

Now, he keeps peeping into the world through the glass of his mobile phone and
As you know,
the world is too big to see in a life.

So, he has no time to see the ancient wall
or the clock fixed to it
But still the clock moves with passage of time
Like those ryhms of our tongues
Still playing in the green --
Days to months and months to years --
Like the clock in the wall or
the wall with the clock.
+++++++++++++++++++++++

‎    ‎        At
some        point,
             I
  felt           time
           just
                i
                c
                k
      ­          i
                n
                g

As I steal a glimpse of the clock's dance,
A yearning swells within, a fleeting chance.
Moments slip through my grasp, like sand they flow,
Tick-tock, they whisper, time won't slow.

The hands move ceaselessly, a gentle plea,
To remind me that time won't wait for me.
No pause, no respite, it marches on,
Ignoring my plea for serenity's song.