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Rosie Apr 11
When do we begin dreading birthdays?
When does the count down to the new year begin to sound like the tick tick tick of a time bomb?
When do days become hours
hours become minutes
minutes become seconds?
When do we finally stop and realize that we’ve lived seven years longer than our best friends?

Time is a fickle mistress

She moves so slowly when you’re young
When you want nothing more than for her to rush up and greet you
Then
in a blink
She’s gone before you can even utter a “Hello.”

But how are we to appreciate something we cannot feel?
How are we to gasp at the presence of something we cannot see?
How are we to sing a beautiful melody we cannot hear?

I wanted to see you today.
Catch up like we always do, but don’t do enough.
But Time, I guess, had other plans.

Assignments were filling up my inbox, papers just couldn’t be ignored any longer, and I was tired from not sleeping well the night before and my cat had to choose today to knock over the T.V., shattering the screen, and my mother called, you know how she can just drone on and on, and then I had to stare at my fridge for at least twenty minutes before deciding the chips in the pantry will curb my hunger fine, then this emergency at work and this thing with my sister…

Then
before you know it
it’s two in the morning
and I need to go to bed.

But those are all just excuses, aren’t they?
A bunch of moments to distract from the guilt from not seeing you.

You see, Time is a man-made creation
not some external force of nature.
Sure, the sun and moon glide across the sky,
but the meaning of that was assigned by us.
The day doesn’t begin when we open our eyes
there are plenty of cheap coffee mugs that say otherwise
So it doesn’t have to end when the light in the sky dies

Time is not a fickle mistress.

She’s in the gray hairs that grow with our wisdom,
In the wrinkles that are carved from our laughter
In the aches in our bones from dancing just a little bit too long

We are time.

And I’m sorry
I’m sorry for not making Time for you.
The only thing we can spend and never get back.
Evie G Jan 21
You, to me, run like clockwork.
Which is to say:

In sections , your insides spin at insidious speeds, whirring a blur of gold silver copper gold silver copper-
In others, they crawl, wrestling, pushing, heaving, scraping and screeching.
A cacophony of cogs, the crashes spark thoughts.
Thoughts that think of everything,
Thoughts that think your mate can sing
Thoughts you thunk when you where drunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts that form into ideas,
Thoughts that show eternal fears.
Thoughts you thought you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thought but nought comes to mind about the thought you thought you’d thought about thinking the thought you’d thunk,
Thunk, Thunk , Clunk.

These lighting shards that shatter and glow,
They seem to know which way to go.
Conjoin with fractured other parts,
To hold together another heart.

But all they see, is a calm face.
That subtly shifts from day to night.
So unaware of any fright.
Tick, tick, tock.

You are the all encompassing
Incomprehensible complex
A never ending clockwork
Spinning deeper and deeper
Swirling deeper, deeper
Twirling, deeper, deeper, deeper

Dirt and diamond and daisies and you,
Contain all in life i know to be true.
Clockwork you.
Cheeky little poem I wrote for drama school auditions :)
Aquila Oct 2021
I can't find the energy to care about you anymore.
Or your new girlfriend,
or your car, passing me on the way to the city
at 9 pm, always showing up wherever I least want you.
I saw her wearing your shirt the other day.
I can't find the energy to care about you anymore.
i wish i could never think about you again.
Hamna Oct 2021
Breaths are so unseen,
Yet, they are life's divine clocks-
Cupped in misty clouds.
Another Haiku...
I love writing haikus. They're so fun!
Payton Feb 2021
Between silken sheets we let all of the golden clocks fall over the edge of our world.
There, we kissed and kissed until we could measure time only by the rise and fall of our broken breaths and knew no other taste
than the light in each others bones.
This poem was written in 2016.
Brett Nov 2020
In this broken clock
I find solace for the pain
Though time flows onward still
Like a river catches rain

In this broken clock
I can hear the music play
As the haggard singer smiles
And strums his soul away

In this broken clock
I fear I cannot stay
Eternally trapped inside
Trading tomorrows for today
This one means a lot.
Betty Oct 2020
Turn back the clocks
Countless ears who heard the restless call of spring
Will never dance to winters tune
The hands of time are stilled
For them the clock has stopped
On this year
And all others
This dying year
Has become a year of dying
2020
Kristina Oct 2020
If all the clocks stood still for a whole day I'd pack my bags and take a walk.

As I leave the house I don't check my mail 'cause nobody could reach me anyway this day. I walk down the streets, breathe in the clean air and listen to the sound of silence since there are no cars or people around.

A song forms in my mind, which I sing while walking down my path alone. I reach the park next to my home and look around. Noone's there except the wind fondling the trees and bushes. A few yellow flowers are growing on the meadow, not wondering why they are even there.

I keep on walking, reach a huge square that's totally empty. I pull some chalk out of my backpack and begin drawing on the ground. I take my time drawing while admiring the place in a way I've never been able to before due to all the people and noise.

"Love is the answer, not matter what you're asking.", is written there now for everyone to see. I leave the place, walking on, taking down flags, posters and stickers of fascists and racists on my way, replacing them with rainbows and hearts.

Until the sun sets, I keep walking around, tearing down signs of hatred and building those of love.

As midnight draws nearer I sit down in the park I visited first this day, watching the world starting up again. It starts with clocks ticking, birds singing, the growing sound of voices and vehicles. The others are waking up again, hopefully to notice the traces I've left behind, maybe wonder and think about them.

I hope to have changed anything on this one day I had as my time stops and I fade away leaving a small share of silence.
Finally my clock stood still.
Anthony Pierre Sep 2020
Fireflies dance pretty
well, byte-sized fairies' tale
long & twistle: a tongue's whistle
In the dark, dark arts made
bright lights sing like a clock:

"Tik Tok, Tik Tok"

This chime, time circles
red like Asian kings: vultures
tightening the noose like Zeus
on Douyin's long neck. Hands dance, bytedance on a fairytale clock

"Tik Tok, Tik Tok"
A fairytale clock goes: "Tik Tok, Tik Tok"
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