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Brynn S 6d
Feet under crystal green water
Fragments of debris float in circular motions
Tracing the minds pondering nature
World passes as if turning backwards
Return to the former place one of purity
The corruption brought forth a small death
One of little significance yet large impact
Only personal not important

The clocks are abused
Mistreatment of age delivers ****
Ellis Holden Feb 15
Where to begin?
How to tell a well structured story of a,b,c order
when life reigns in chaos?
I wait for moment to strike
for glorious inspiration to dawn in lightened euphoria,
but I fear it will not come.
How sure am I to be of this moment?
When I can feel the clock drain.
It ticks and ticks       i  n  s  i  s  t  e  n  t  l  y,
counting over the hours and draining of sand.
And while I sit here
watching the arrow round the clock,
what of the billboard plastered behind?
In my fixation for alarm's ring
the flash of neon glow is dull to my senses.
I read not the words.
My moment of finding never goes, never comes.
I       w  a  i  t
and time passed by.
And what now?
Should it all be over?
I have watched the tick of clock,
waited for my time to run bare
with little I can show.
What have I amounted to in my search for meaning?
What have I left plastered, unread to that now pealing board?
Victoria Feb 13
tick to tick to tock to tock
to reminisce to make it stop
to hide my face to never race
to the far away finish line

tock to tock to tick to tick
to make amends to make a fix
to hold a grudge to never budge
to let others take advantage

tick to tock to tick to tock
to have some fun to let things rock
to youthful glows to always grow
to always favor me
Kora Sani Feb 10
like everything else
are manufactured
to give meaning
to the passing world around us

the concept of time
may be nothing
but an illusion

& time
like everything else
holds no more weight
than what the human mind
allows for it

when our clocks
show the symbol
we conjure up a hope
that four 1's
side by side
may impact
what is to come

as that number echoes in a row
everything aligns
becoming pleasurable
to the mind's eye

we allow this illusion
to take precedence
we have nothing to lose
everything to gain
Eric Feb 10
Imprinted on my mind
To think of you a thousand times
Before the minute was over

Hollow as the sounds echo
Nothing to hang onto , I must let go
New hour has begun

But silence fell over the voiceless voice
That feeling of thinking I had a choice.
The dark day has arrived .

Million words , a million ways, to say
I love you, and not a letter missing out of eight.
It's been a week

Eternity line snapped, hopeless string.
And I believed in every Viber of my being.
How many months has it been.

Rewind and please stop , I'm dieing
In your world , I'm not even trying
But my minutes are years .

However long this eternity takes it to be
I'll always wish someday you'll know me
Even after 6 years of "nothing"...
How do you heal a bruise on your mind?
I have yet to find out to erase memories.
How can one person sit on someones mind till that person is crushed? . Every minute of every day . I think of every moment I let slip away . Don't let go of love . Even know love let go of you.
Karen Horsley Feb 10
cloaked in night’s shadows
swaddled in silence but for the ticking clock
and the gentle rumble of an aeroplane
glowing street lights cast shadows
on whitewashed walls
as wayward cats slink stealthily
comforted by cosy warm beds
and the sound of the ticking clock

copyright © 2019 Karen Horsley
Noah Clark Feb 6
On a bad day, time
seems to slow.

On a good day, time
      decides to fly.

      What if we could trick
   time by finding enjoyment
in the bad days.

Maybe then we
   could live our lives
      just a little bit longer.
A thought that came to my mind today
the drippling droplets,
escape like clockworks,

to fly,
and fall upon my mind
As midnight strikes I wage wars
with invisible enemies
that will never breach
your side of the snow globe.
And you'll wake like my nightmares
are your dream catchers.
You'll wake and catch sunlight,
dew drops and morning air.
You are in the bubble of where
good things still happen.
You are where
I am not.

And sometimes I still wonder
how you get the better
end of the bargain,
while I only get nostalgia,
unhealthy coping mechanisms
and nuclear explosion
barren spaces in my heart.

I can't see past old horizons
and what's stuck ticking restlessly
on blank canvass walls
has always been a marker
dividing my present
from yours.
Inktober 2018
Day 14
Prompt: Clock
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