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Dani Nov 2018
We wait and watch
A digital wall or wrist-watch
The ticks and tocks
Of the never ending clocks
Continuing night to dawn
It goes on and on
Never does it consider our mood
It is a date or something we elude
A specific dot to take our stance
We sit, we wait, we do the time dance
It goes on and on
One day it’ll be all gone
Salmabanu Hatim Oct 2018
I am the cuckoo clock,
Precise,authentic,steadfast  as a rock.
All day long,
Tick tock, tick tock goes my song.
Hung on the wall,
In the main hall,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick,
Not a wink,
My pendulum swings to and fro,
As I view people come and go.
On the dot of the hour,
My cuckoo slides in and out of the door,
Chirps a lovely cuckoo call,
Young and old in the hall,
They cheer all.
I am their cuckoo clock,
A piece of artistic work,
My master's pride,
The family's guide,
To their various routines,
For many many seasons I have been,
On their wall,
In the main hall.
Maria Etre Sep 2018
What if
I wrote
about what
I can't talk about
would that make
you
disappear?

Would that
turn me into
a magician?
Magicians
Lynnia Aug 2018
“Tick tock,”
calls the clock
Time inches on
and doesn’t stop
And dawn begins
We count by tens
Waiting for our lives to end.

“Tick tock,”
sings the clock
Time tiptoes on
and doesn’t stop
And morning begins
We’re wading in
Waiting for our lives to end.

“Tick tock,”
drawls the clock
Time marches on
and doesn’t stop
And day begins
We fight to win
Waiting for our lives to end.

“Tick tock,”
warns the clock
Time hurries on
and doesn’t stop
And noon begins
We pick up again
Waiting for our lives to end.

“Tick tock,”
whispers the clock
Time races on
and doesn’t stop
And evening begins
We grab our pens
Waiting for our lives to end.

“Tick tock,”
yells the clock
Time still goes on
and never stops
Night has arrived
The day has died
Make way; a new dawn starts to rise.
A poem about the human life cycle.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
The distant thrumming
the rhymic ticking
a sound I used to hold dear.
washing away
the squeaks
the squawks
of a home too broken too share.
The taps
The tocks
of an old analog clock
washing my life to sleep.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Tick

In the tyranny of the measuring clock
Death is but a tortoise in this timeless race
With every slow tick and echoing tock
Forever keeping its careless pace

With so much to do I stay awake
With one foot in front of the other
Running with knees and feet that ache
Time feeds worms a salutary supper

In the end we must lie and nap
Embrace eternal slumbers deadlock
We are just hares caught in times trap
In the tyranny of the measuring clock

Tock
ashley marie Feb 2018
little alice feels so small in the corner of the room
The walls are quite empty
The room is quite boring.
Air becomes thick within layers
overthinking shackles little alice
little alice cannot think anymore.

sometimes little alice can hear
a rabbit running outside
she so desperately wants to follow him
the little rabbit's watch ticks
the clock ticks slower
ticktickticktick
tick      tick                           ­ tick

the room
can't breathe
                                                                ­              tick
Ellie Canty Feb 2018
What would happen if I disappeared?
Into nothing, out of time,
all stemming interaction ceasing

There would be the grievances,
ultimately stemming from the fear of it becoming truly personal.
Then the world would move on
With the human idea of time erasing me from existence.

The sun sets and the moon cycles
gravity pulls the earth around.
As i sit with you watching the stars,
I cannot fathom all of those who we have forgotten,
and realize i must come to terms

with the fact that i am a tick of a clock that will pass unnoticeably.  
But if that tick did not happen,
then we could not continue:
stuck in a moment when i did not exist.
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