how loudly
that clock ticks
when all you want
is ******* sleep

Everything passes
Like seasons that come and go
What you deem important today
Becomes yesterday's headlines
Soon something else will seem more important
Don't get stuck in a time capsule
From which there is no escape
Don't look back
Avoid that pillar of salt
Don't dream of what could have been
If it was meant to be
It would have happened
The hands of a clock can not be turned back
Nor can they be pushed one inch forward
Synchronise your heart and beat in time

i’ve known you more years than you’ve ignored me

the clock ticks into the lonesome hours
hung up on a single midnight prayer
lingering on the lips of a bandit
the strange humanoid breeze stirring the silky curtains
swear i can hear harsh whispers underneath the sheets

elusive, like time
you racing along cemetery roads
rainy fog splashing quickly upon your rosy face
i see a lighthouse glow coming from the depths of your soul
it blinks twice, for help, but when i come closer
the sea turns jet black, with only the moon as a fickle witness
unreliable narrator, strung on the words i’m convinced are true

i remember the phone ringing and my feet sprinting to pick it up
now you hanging up on me instead of the line
the cord snapped off, a strategic static
six different rings and betting that it is you
on the other end,
but instead it’s just ghostly noises and faint memories hung out in the yard like wet laundry

i’m crying the bullets you shot into me
they come out of my pores, into my shaky hands,
and i lose every sense of my existence
it feels rare to belong, so impossible to fit into the correct puzzle piece

the floodwater so murky and enigmatic
the clock ticks and i start to hear your laugh
from the sky
it dives into the walls of this crumbling house,
singing as in amusement or sheer fear

devote my life to migration
moving to places where your feet have stood,
but it’s never permanent
the fire is almost so inviting,
gifting a warmth that no human being ever could
hot coals and embers, but it doesn’t burn
it feels like belonging.

the gentle reminders of my fears
sing me to sleep
“what could go wrong?”
“will i wake?”
their ever-dreadful lullaby
lulling me to slumber
a grandfather clock
a stopwatch
tick tick ticking
til all fades away

they are all asleep
and I sneak under cover
of the lateness of the hour
to the comfort of my words
scrawled across a page in ink
from the nib of a fountain pen
they search for a target
I'll never achieve
on a journey through my head
reaching for perfection
I am tired by a world
always demanding more
than I'm prepared to give
always asking for more
than I could possibly have
but this moment is at least mine
stolen from the clock of life

Sunlight, moonlight
Come with their own greeting
Sun says, “good morning”
Moon replies, “good evening”.

Clockwork shift change
Little conversation on the horizon
Clocking in, clocking out
Leaving and arriving

the ticking of a well-known clock is always in the background
as we draw breath from a planet designed to accommodate us.

sometimes, it lurks in the shadows
as we fill our hearts with love.
the present takes us by the hand,
so we stay with it joyfully.

other times, it bounces off the cold, white walls
until we cannot remember a day without it.
hope has flown away, so we wander through the past,
trying to find a way to put the noise to bed.

we find a moment that is soft to the touch -  
where the only sound we can hear is laughter.
we hold it to our chests to stay warm
as we close our eyes in surrender.

the ticking finally stops.

You see the writing, the truth in life,
Behind the painting of joy, none can say.
An empty room, a seat wherefore to write
Things that come to mind in full light
Are burnt by the light of the world's day.

You feel like you're going to pop,
Hold on it's quite the same as when you
Were a kid, you're just watching empty
Drama and behold, after all you're just a 'clay mold,'
This is the rest of  your life. Do as you're...

No going back, you see the clock count
The endless hours of one meaningless
Waste of natural beauty as it will someday decay.
This is all that's too come, soon at least they will
Earn a fortune in time, all that's left of the sun
And the stary night sky...is 'Ashen Gray.'