Tick... tick... tick..,
The sound was ticking...
Time was whistling past noon as I sat in my bedroom with nothing to do but listen to the sounds of the hounds across the street singing songs unique to the windows of a widow whose husband had died too soon.
Tick, tick, tick.
Muscles twitch.
My eyes gloom...
bewitched on the sight of the swinging pendulum that relayed my bittersweet symphony.
Everything is symmetry.
Everything's that same dream.
I think the thoughts in my head like I’m in a scene.
I'll be sleeping like a dead man soon.
I tell the tall tale in my head with room to grow.
It doesn't.
The tiredness lurks.
The perks of my uncomfortable mattress is formidable to match wits with.
(end of part one)
This poem is about a humdrum feeling while listening to time go by.
