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2 AM calling
to sing the green dawn's chorus
for my ears only.


Copyright © 2022 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved
I always find myself randomly waking up at 2 AM, it's become a constant occurrence at this point and I don't understand why it happens. I don't always enjoy it, especially when I'm already tired, but sometimes it's pretty peaceful, like this time was carved especially for me to write or read or do whatever makes me happy. Or maybe I'm just romanticising my insomnia ****.

*I might also change the title because I'm not a huge fan but I couldn't think of anything else.*

(P.S. you can follow me on instagram, if you'd like to @sykmusings ♡)
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 :)
Reshnia crimson Nov 2021
If I could
Pull my clockwork heart out
From my chest and point
To every gear that refuses to tick

If I could
I would dismantle it in front of you
To show you where
And why it gave out

If I could
I would show you the gear
Unattached to any other
Spining desperately
Because it doesn't know
It's spinning along and for nothing

If I could
I would tell you I think
That I didn't know
That clockwork was so delicate
I think I have clumsy hands
And I broke a few parts
Trying to fix it

If I could
I would give you the windup key
To stab me in the back and twist it
Hoping for something to click into place

But I can't.
I gunked up the keyhole
Hope and fear don't mix well
Like chewing gum they stick
And mix until they're both brown

I can't
Reach that little gear
Spinning so relentlessly

I can't oil it
And stop it from screaming
Screeching so loudly
At all the other gears around it
That won't turn no matter how fast it goes

I can't
Turn each gear by hand
I've tried
No one warned me
That clockwork hearts are warm
And bruise so easily

If I could
I would take up my clockwork heart
In my clumsy callous hands
Feeling it's hummingbird wing beats
Struggling in Morse code
Begging and pleading
To be held gently

If I could
I think maybe I would grip it
Feel it sputter and struggle
Like every time before
Just for clockwork gears
To grind together
To spark for all the wrong reasons

If I could
I would squeeze just a bit more
Until the last spinning gear halted
I would sob as I crushed it
Because it's already bruised and sore

If I could
I would be gental and lay it down
Let it hummingbird wings beat
And see that it's a cog in a dying machine

If I could
I would let it go cold
Numb it so the bruises stop hurting
I would put it to rest for pities sake

If I could
I would be soft with it
But I have clumsy callous hands
And cruelty will have to do
I would dare to call it mercy
If it would justify my tears
Kvothe Nov 2020
Stardust complexities
s
       h
i
       m
m
       e
r
out in golden blue.
The exacting clockwork of the cosmos ticks
ponderously
in Kepler seconds.

Chronology here is kept by
the
pendulous
sway
of
planets.

Aeons as minutes.

We are just dust
on the gears.

Galactic flecks,
swept up
in the filigree pirouette of an
astronomical timepiece.
Here, but not here.
Q        .
.        U
A        .
.        N
T         .
.        U
M        .
and fleeting.
Feedback would be great!
tonylongo Mar 2020
The City of Brass,
you can still hear it calling....
one last click - then another -
silence.....long, long......
then one more, almost muffled by the tons of sand
"The City of Brass" is a section of the English translation of 1,001 Nights
Clockwork

noun

1. I stand here as nothing more but a head of misplaced gears.

2. sometimes i stumble and trip and fall and my feet get caught in trying to keep up with the world as it keeps spinning and i can't help but to keep spinning with it no matter how much i beg and plead and pray and hope for another chance to land on my feet, and i can’t stop spinning, i can’t stop spinning, i can’t stop spinning, i can’t stop, stop spinning
  
3. with each passing hour I find another reason to fear the dark. it’s midnight, and I can see the fluttering wings of doubt and regret that lurk outside my window every night. tick-tock. my father’s pounding footsteps and the creaking of stairs sing a symphony of disappointment. tick-tock. the beast in the closet claws at the door, with his raspy breath he screeches about taking my skin and wearing it as his own. tick-tock. the shadow underneath my bed caresses my head, it knows He doesn’t listen to my pleas anymore. tick-tock.

4. but you can’t stop it, it’s inevitable for the gears to rust. the ticking of the clock slows to nothing but a cold metallic silence. watch the decay, as the termites feast and revel in your maplewood walls. try to remember that dust to dust and we are nothing but atoms of carbon and iron. that’s clockwork.
after keaton st. James
Juhlhaus Sep 2019
Animated by twitch of muscle,
Electric spark through live wire,
Humming rail and synapse,
Wheels spin at the fingertips of maybe
An ineffable humorist,
The mastermind of this beautiful prank
Pocketwatch of silver and gold
That explodes in the hand
And leaves you stranded on the platform
The second you go to check the time.
Bhill Aug 2019
Is there no understanding of history today
Are we going into a real Clockwork Orange
Why do we as people, have to repeat and believe
We repeat the worst historical times; blaming them on cycles
Cycles that we create in the name of anything, but the truth
We believe whatever feels right to our own personal thoughts
Beliefs, that are created out of misunderstood words and actions
Why, oh why, can't we ever learn
Why can't we do the right and truthful thing...?

Nobody was injured during this BRAIN RANT!!!
Agree or not...  I don't give a sh}¥
Not really true because this made me cry
Well not cry.  I just laughed so hard I cried
Just can't take the craziness without a little BRAIN RANT!
Sorry....  No, I'm not.  Felt good!

“It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you watch them on a screen.”
― anthony burgess, A Clockwork Orange

Brian Hill - 2019 # 200
Is today's actions a cycle because we can't lean from our own tragic history?
Just a question for you all...
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