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Sam Apr 2020
Tick Tock goes the clock of wanting to hit the pipe again
Tick Tock goes the clock of wanting to be numb again
Tick Tock goes the clock of the flame burning against the glass
Tick Tock goes the clock of the drug melting away

Tick Tock goes the clock of inhaling danger into my lungs
Tick Tock goes the clock of exhaling the smoke
Tick Tock goes the clock of the high warming my body

Tick Tock goes the clock of desperately wanting more
Tick Tock goes the clock of crushing more danger
Tick Tock goes the clock of rolling the dollar bill
Tick Tock goes the clock of snorting away my problems

Tick Tock goes the clock of a rush of euphoria
Tick Tock goes the clock of redoing everything again
Tick Tock goes the clock of coming down again

Tick Tock goes the clock of endless sleepless nights
Tick Tock goes the clock of hearing my mother and father cry
Tick Tock goes the clock of the haunting silence in my room
Tick Tock goes the clock of my heart beating inside my chest

Tick Tock goes the clock of picking up the pen
Tick Tock goes the clock of the tear hitting the paper
Tick Tock goes the clock of wanting to be numb again

Tick Tock goes the clock of the trembling hands
Tick Tock goes the clock of folding the paper
Tick Tock goes the clock of whispering one last goodbye
Tick Tock goes the clock of me hanging in the belltower
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
How the silence greeted her never be?
Never see the clock to fool you
Always react quickly the change
will get you
About  her time never to be wasted
And never the right time to be free
Please she is the lady never
defeated like General Lee
The revelation to be loved
he had this clock-wise
reaction

Charlotte curved her position
like a pendulum going back and forth.

It was all she could say
she looked up at him
dancing with the golden flames
piercing her eyes. nineteen roaring
just about twenty dames
The clocks how she envisioned the
quarterback the hands like wands
had different names of foreign lands
Please, not my clock hand my hand
I am running out of time
The love doesn't last even the
first time or your
Last race against time
I assure you the competition never the
right words
But I am feeling all the wrong
signals so indecisive
Clocks somehow can be relative

Her heels not so concrete when
we are talking
and especially walking running late
its always like  her and his debate
So conclusive men campfire no clocks
But the hot fire bacon
Her clock is near the mason jar
Hollywood star is way out of line
Throw her overboard
The babe is so pompous
ladies taking trips beyond the clock
Graveyard shift please assure me
I can use a facelift
Feeling the dead of night waitress shifts
looking at the clock nothing to rave about

The quiet ones so sensitive giving
them a lift be positive to be saved
and please clock them into the tick.
There shining with there own click
computer ((Apple)) bite with Gents
of martini ladies turn the clock
like Houdini.

We need to be more responsive
to the thing that ticks back at us
So like we are living together so costly
Being passive at the time but expensive every-time
that elapsed like the war of the flow of clocks world.

She hopes so strongly she didn’t jump into his frying pan of words like trying to read the top of the hour newspaper trying to tell the time it’s like a second-hand clock.

But first, most importantly we cannot turn the clock
back to undo the harm it caused.
But we certainly have the power to go with the flow to make things better instant pudding have a way of coming unstuck.

To ensure ourselves what happened in our past never again will we let it flow into our future. Let our minds flow with more positive energy.

Day in and Day out:
Please assure me the right day you come on in
The day that you want to leave but please
don't stay out more time that's what life is about

All you do is dig dig dig… how we conserve energy per unit time. How we put all our energies into works.
Or also our nervous energy fighting trying so hard to focus to find the time to balance our energy our mass movement.

Like the sacred going deep well dig your way to a spiritual time and knowing the truth of things will set us free.

Your the one going solo feel a pounding in your heart needing so much to tell someone how you care about them what happens to you when your day begins.
Do we have a second to think about can we undo something or will it remain deep in our hearts?
Something touched you like explosive words at war with one another how they develop.

How does this entire world deal with such terrorism?
But not having the time
What! I see the clocks and the
Watchtower every soap opera hour to tell someone you love them how you need them because your days come to close to the end.

You feel like a thousand drums
hit you like a bomb going off ticking clocks.

We visualize more what love really is and the day in and day out like the song continues on your digging way down to finding something its huge so major to bring it way up to the surface.

Telling one another the game isn’t over until the clock says zero.
We are going to below trying to dig deeper.
Like time management oxymoron time beyond like anger management, we cannot control it will keep ticking regardless of our lives any flow or form.

He changed to be pleased or she retreated one arm against the mantelpiece his eyes surprised
The engagement turned like a clockwork orange so irritated beyond a different time.
To refresh the orange pulp going to the Gulf of Mexico
She felt stopped for a moment in time how she couldn’t gasp for air.
The sensation got stronger how she was being watched making the right or wrong moves her steps going back and forth.

With an effort,
Please assure me
I know it not easy to please me or how you know me
Like a six sense our eyes went the same direction
Like the romance endless kisses of France
She forced herself to straighten her body
to behave but her mind really needed to function.
He sensed the last word
The next word I assure you it's like a love bomb
For quite some time  I felt in a coffin
like tic rock boom of logs
Emboldened she allowed herself
to see the contour of destined time.
Please assure me all contours shaped his face.
Please assure me I still have a brain but a
different environment place
My clock stopped just when I felt my writer's block
Somewhere over Finnegan's rainbow, his colors
changed my clock.

Like the 'French Emperor Napoleon"
Too many derogatory stereotypes.
The morning mist
The ending  list was lifted by the time
like our world became
so responsible for the past
and future how different the time became.
Like the Rehma time

The flow of electric mechanical
The clock number remarkable, please dig into the deeper movement, beautiful Girl flow’s inside.
Like Yoga life of the party, Gala adulterated minds drift oceans wave brains of Psychology.
Love and hope but our souls the core of our brain.
That cozy warm inviting library with the creative cafe of old grandfather clocks Ingram 1828 Ansonia 1850
His name Gilbert rocking pendulum newton equation
Please assure me we will meet again there is so much space

How someone is born with the proverbial silver spoon those compounding assets please assure me I will look up your face in my clock became all in one heirloom faces.
Another clock I assure you its different uniquely written but we need time do you have some time to read this its important your all invited I am giving you lots of space
Tatiana Dec 2015
It was 11 o'clock when they told me you were gone. 11 O'clock and I thought my dog had died or my dad's car had broken down or he lost his house maybe gotten sick and was in the hospital but it was at 11 o'clock that they told me you were gone. It's a feeling I'll never forget, one that I hope no one will have to encounter in their life. You were gone for a day before I knew. By a hand so familiar to you. A hand that had rubbed your stomach when it was upset trying to calm it, a hand that had made you soup when your nose was stuffed and sticky, a hand that created beautiful masterpieces no matter the canvas. You wrote a different kind of line, one with pink and purple and blue. They crossed and conjoined and streamlined across the world. You wrote a different kind of story. A story where you had it all together. A story where the main character never lost his smile even though he faced troubles unbeknownst to everyone. You painted a story of strength and virtue and people of all ages (young and old) hoped to be like you when they grew up. It was 11 o'clock and nothing could have prepared me for the news of your departure. All of the pain I've felt, all of the books I've read, news articles with similar stories, NOTHING could have prepared me for this one. Because this time the story was mine. Uncle Darrell, it was at 11 o'clock when they told me you left us. 11 o'clock is no longer a time I wish to be awake. 11 o'clock was on a Friday. I no longer like Friday's. At 11 o'clock I realized I hadn't been awarded the chance to see you one last time before it all came to a halt for you. At 11 O'clock I took in the fact that I will never see you again, nobody will. At 11 O'clock I found out I would not be making it to your wake. 11 O'clock has turned into both a time and a place since then. 11 O'clock is now a time when tears dare to fall from my eyes. 11 O'clock is now a place, it's a world without you in it. A place where people come to commemorate your life; where people come to celebrate the fact that someone as angelic as you once walked this earth. You were a blessing unto every person you have met and you will never be forgotten. I love you Uncle Darrell I hope that one day I will see you again.
Avery Greensmith May 2014
i.** I need you to survive,  I tried to breathe air in the sky, but my lungs only receive it when your eyes fill them up with air. Then, I can breathe again. The functions of my body begin to work, like gears in the clock I used to love (before you told me you hated it, then I forgot all about it). My eyes don’t fill up with water unless you pour buckets from the ocean into them. (my eyes sting but I’ve forgotten the pain, if that is the only way to survive with you by my side). And I cannot eat until your fingernails have broken, by the way you dig into the sand with a beach shovel, because that is the only way you know how to feed me.

ii.I cannot live with you by my side (it is impossible to have you anywhere near). When you help me breathe, my heart stops (but not in a good way, the kind that signals a bomb going off). It’s hard to walk alongside you while my heart wants to beat to the beat of a clock that you despise. That clock used to be the thing keeping me living, but now it is you. You are also the reason I am slowly dying. My mind is starting to fade, so I only remember you and the way you dig in the sand (and even though I hate the beach, I’ve forgotten that too). My fingernails are chipping as I scrape the paint of the wall of my bedroom, to make it beautiful for you to enjoy. I am slowly dying because you, because of the reason that I am surviving. (I’d try to get out, but either way I die, and I’d rather die with you holding my hand then you taking the air away from my lungs).

iii. I do not matter to you at all. I am not the air in your lungs or the force that is slowly killing you. To you, I am just another summer day to enjoy, but forget the next day. You wouldn’t even let me breathe if my best friend did not call everyday to remind you (even fake people care about me more than you ever will.) I cannot live without you though, and you have made sure of that. You have taken away my clock, that beautiful clock that helped me move without pain. You have pushed away all my friends, and my enemies (I shall miss my enemies more though, they were beautiful wars we fought each other at). Perhaps it does not even matter that I mean nothing to you, because I will easily slip out of bed one day to hide in the cracks on the wall, and I doubt that you will even notice.

iv. You told me you didn’t care, so why did you lie? why did you lie through your skin and bones to the edges of my heart, until I had no choice but to climb to the top of the clock. That clock that you took away from me, but I still carried with me even in the ocean (it was the only thing I had besides the memories of you that pushed away even the thought of breathing). “tick tock” you have made this sound a million times, yet you have lied through your teeth that you hated this clock. it’s kind of odd, but I have no time to do anything because your enemies have confronted you, and you are pushed up against the wall. (you told me your enemies were fake, but I know they are real, because they have skin, and a beating heart. they even remember how to breathe sometimes).

v. oh. it all makes sense now. You are the clock. I am the air surrounding you, giving you mystery, and that is why I am still here. That is why you even care enough to listen when they tell you I need to breathe, or to scrap yourself trying to feed me. That is why you have told me you despise the clock, because you are the clock, and you despise yourself most of all. “Tick tock” it’s almost night, and you are afraid of the shadows. Your enemies lurk in the shadows, and you cry in the shadows. You're the clock and you will feed me, but will forget to help me breathe unless you are reminded, because you are busy hiding from the shadows that scare you, and you are busy showing the world when the shadows will appear. I wish I could mean more to you (I wish I could be the hand that strikes every hour) but that will never be, so I will settle with holding your head as you cry in the shadows and tell me how much you despise that clock (we all have our demons and perhaps yours were never visible until I confronted mine).
Bryan Lunsford Aug 2018
It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a ****–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
How the silence greeted never be the lady defeated
The revelation to be loved he had this clock-wise reaction
and Charlotte curved her position
like a pendulum going back and forth.

It was all she could say
she looked up at him
dancing with her golden flames
piercing her eyes. nineteen roaring
just about twenty dames
She wasn't sure what to make out
of this particular clock

Please, it doesn't work well like the others?
I am so indecisive

So conclusive to many pompous
ladies taking trips beyond the clock
nightshifts nothing to rave about
The quiet ones so sensitive giving them
a lift to be positive need to be saved.
So please clock them into the tick.

There shining with there own click
computer ((Apple)) by the clock bite
with her Gents of martini, ladies turn
the clock like Houdini.

We need to be more responsive Christies Auction house for clocks
The heart ticks faster back at us

The like-wise Owl we are living together so costly the Lady Bird head her nest eggs expensive.
The time that elapsed the war of the flow of Coco clocks.

She hopes so strongly she didn’t jump into his frying pan of words like trying to read the top of the hill climbing his hours.
The newspaper trying to tell the time it’s like a second-hand clock.

But first, most importantly we cannot turn the clock back to undo the harm it caused.

But we certainly have the power to go with the flow to make things better instant solutions have a way of coming unstuck.

To ensure ourselves what happened in our past never again will we let it flow into our future.
Let our minds flow with more positive energy.

Day in and Day out:
Please assure me the right day you come on in
The day that you want to leave but please
don't stay out more time that's what life is about

All you do is dig dig dig… how we conserve energy per unit time. How we put all our energies into works. Or also our nervous energy fighting way over time trying so hard to focus.
To find the time to balance our energy our mass movement.

Like the sacred going deep well dig your way to a spiritual time and knowing the truth of things will set us free.

Your the one going solo feel a pounding in your heart needing so much to tell someone how you care about them what happens to you when your day begins. Do we have a second to think about can we undo something or will it remain deep in our hearts?
Something touched you like explosive words at war with one another how they develop.

How does this entire world deal with such terrorism?
But not having the time to tell someone you love them because your days come to close to the end.
You feel like a thousand drums hit you like a bomb going off ticking clocks.

We visualize more what love really is and the day in and day out like the song continues on your digging way down to finding something its huge so major to bring it way up to the surface.

Telling one another the game isn’t over until the clock says zero.
We are going to below trying to dig deeper.
Like time management oxymoron time beyond like anger management, we cannot control it will keep ticking regardless of our lives any flow or form.
He changed to be pleased or she retreated one arm against the mantelpiece his eyes surprised
The engagement turned like a clockwork orange so irritated beyond a different time. To refresh the orange pulp going to the Gulf of Mexico
She felt like a stop moment of time how she couldn’t gasp for air.

The sensation got stronger how she was being watched making the right or wrong moves her steps going back and forth.

With an effort,
Please assure me
I know it not easy to please me or how you know me
Like a six sense our eyes went the same direction
Like the romance endless kisses of France
She forced herself to straighten her body
to behave but her mind really needed to function.
He sensed the last word
The next word I assure you it's like a love bomb
For quite some time  I felt in a coffin
like tic rock boom of logs
into the stillness of the room.
Emboldened she allowed herself
to see the contour of destined time
Please assure me all contours shaped his face.
Please assure me I still have a brain but a
different environment place
feeling at times like writer's block
but then someone is out there to change my clock.

Like the 'French Emperor Napoleon"
power request so many derogatory stereotypes.
The morning mist was lifted by the time like our world became so responsible for the past and future how different time became.
Like the Rehma time
The flow electric mechanical clock numbers how they dig to her movement beautiful Girl flow’s inside. Like Yoga life of the party, Galla  adulterated minds drift oceans wave brains of Psychology
Love and hope but our souls go deeper into the core of our brain. That cozy warm inviting library with the creative cafe of old grandfather clocks
some of the names
Ingram 1828 Ansonia 1850
His name Gilbert rocking pendulum newton equation
of physics tome arrow how were fighting for time
Please assure me we will meet again there is so much space

Getting into the light or the dark like a sparrow.
How someone is born with the proverbial silver spoon those compounding assets please assure me I will look up your face in my clock became all in one heirloom faces.
Another clock I assure you its different uniquely written but we need time do you have some time to read this its important your all invited I am giving you lots of space
Which is better, a clock that is right only once a year, or a clock that is right twice every day?
"The latter," you reply, "unquestionably." Very good, now attend.
I have two clocks: one doesn't go at all, and the other loses a minute a day: which would you prefer? "The losing one," you answer, "without a doubt."
Now observe: the one which loses a minute a day has to lose twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes before it is right again, consequently it is only right once in two years, whereas the other is evidently right as often as the time it points to comes round, which happens twice a day.
So you've contradicted yourself once.
"Ah, but," you say, "what's the use of its being right twice a day, if I ca'n't tell when the time comes?"
Why, suppose the clock points to eight o'clock, don't you see that the clock is right at eight o'clock? Consequently, when eight o'clock comes round your clock is right.
"Yes, I see that," you reply.
Very good, then you've contradicted yourself twice: now get out of the difficulty as best you can, and don't contradict yourself again if you can help it.
You might go on to ask, "How am I to know when eight o'clock does come? My clock will not tell me." Be patient: you know that when eight o'clock comes your clock is right, very good; then your rule is this: keep your eye fixed on your clock, and the very moment it is right it will be eight o'clock.
"But--," you say.
There, that'll do; the more you argue the further you get from the point, so it will be as well to stop.
Theia Gwen Jan 2014
Tick, Tock I can't stop staring at the clock
Waiting for this period to end
Tick, Tock 82 minutes
Until I'll see you again

Tick, Tock still staring at the clock
It's quite embarrassing to confess
That as i'm sitting here with 65 minutes left
All I'm thinking is when i'll see you next

Tick, Tock what's wrong with that clock?
It says I have to wait another half hour
I've been sitting her an eternity
Tick, Tock I know that clock is a liar

Tick Tock, my eyes plastered to the clock
Why can't time go faster?
Tick, Tock 15 minutes on the clock
Until I hear your laughter

Tick, Tock 5 more minutes on the clock
I'ts quite silly of me
That I measure time by when I'll see you again
Tick, Tock please go quicker, you stupid clock

Tick, Tock one more minute on the clock
Until our brief encounter
Tick Tock my heart beats like a clock
The bell rings as a reminder

Tick, Tock I'm done staring at the clock
And now, I'll search for your face
We spot each other but can only speak for a minute
Tick, Tock why can't time just stop?

Tick, Tock the teacher point to the clock
I'm always late for class
Tick, Tock it starts all over again
Just staring at the clock
Until I see you again
Don Moore Feb 2016
Tick tock flick of the clock
Nurses come and nurses go
Tick tock flick of the clock
Needles in and needles out
Tick tock flick of the clock
Sun slips across the window pane
Tick tock flick of the clock
Life is down to ***, poo and pain
Tick tock flick of the clock
Deep down inside I am waiting
Tick tock flick of the clock
People talking, warm hands holding
Tick tock flick of the clock
Rhythmic pumping help me breath
Tick tock flick of the clock
Softly quiet, no pain just waiting for the end
Tick tock flick of the clock
Misty hazel eyes, whispered words gently pleading
Tick tock flick of the clock
So dragging back from fading lights
Tick tock flick of the clock
Warm hands holding, wife forever caring
Tick tock flick of the clock
Open eyes and live again
Tick tock flick of the clock
So love always won and the dark has gone away.
Written just after I left intensive care.
Tick tock its 12 'o clock and your smiling merely
tick tock its 1' o clock as tears pour from your eyes
tick tock its 2' o clock and everything is fine once again
tick tock its 3 'o clock and your late once more
tick tock its 4'o clock and your wondering what you did
tick tock its 5'o clock and everything is happy again
tick tock its 6' o clock and your wondering why your still here
tock tock its 7' o clock and you swear you never want to leave
tick tock its 8'o clock and your being pulled in every direction
tick tock its 9' o clock and toy have become someone you have grown to hate
tick tock its 10' o clock and its the best feeling in the world
tick tock its 11' o clock and you have just messed up again
tick tock its 12 'o clock ans everything starts over
Part Time Poet Dec 2015
5 o'clock, I should start my homework
Haha that's a funny one
I'll just go on Facebook instead

6 o'clock, Time to eat dinner
This shouldn't take too long
I can start my work after

7 o'clock, Okay I'm done eating
I should really get my homework started
Goes on Twitter for an hour

8 o'clock, Oh **** it's 8:00 already?
I'm serious I'll start my homework now
Oh look someone texted me

9 o'clock, How the **** did an hour go by already?
That was like ten minutes max
Oh well, I wonder what's new on YouTube?

11 o'clock, Did I really just spend two hours watching videos on YouTube?
Wow I have a problem
I wonder what's happened on Facebook since I left?

12 o'clock, Oh **** it's a new day
I have school in eight hours and my homework isn't started
Well I'm not going to get any sleep so I might as well just stay up later

1 o'clock, Wow I'm so tired
Homework is stupid
Why do teachers give homework?
Whoever invented homework is dead to me

2 o'clock, Haha I'm still going
Tomorrow is about to be rough
But now that "tomorrow" is today
I have to last a full day on no sleep
Wait I still have to start my ******* homework

3 o'clock, Finally started my homework
Too tired to process anything
This homework is gonna take forever cause I'm exhausted out of my ******* mind

4 o'clock, School starts in four hours
What the **** am I doing?
Why did I have to procrastinate?
Why do I do this to myself?
I have a major problem

5 o'clock, Finished my homework
Have to wake up in an hour
Oh well, an hour is better than none
I'm never procrastinating again!
*Cycle repeats tomorrow
I go through this struggle night after night after night
I found I was left a mantle clock
The type that you wind by key,
It had stood upon my father’s shelf,
Now it came down to me.
Inside the clock I had found a note
Scrawled in my father’s hand,
‘You never must overwind the clock
For time is a shifting sand.’

That’s all that it said, that tiny note
And I’d wondered what he meant,
Surely he could have talked to me
And made it more evident.
But my father had been secretive
And never would say too much,
Just that his life had raced away
And left him behind, and such.

The end of his life had come too soon,
It certainly was a shock,
I found him sat alone in his chair
And pointing up at the clock,
It wasn’t until the afternoon
I noticed the clock had stopped,
Just as his heart had ceased to beat,
There wasn’t a tick, or tock.

I took it home and I placed it up
In pride of place on the shelf,
Over the wooden mantlepiece
And wound the thing up myself.
I just didn’t know how many times
I was meant to turn the key,
So probably over wound it then,
Not knowing what was to be.

Over the following week I found
The clock had been gaining time,
And thought, that’s probably what he meant,
Never to over wind,
I tried to adjust it back a bit
To change the rate of the pawl,
But found the cog was racing away
And speeding up overall.

No matter what I did to that clock
Its speed just wouldn’t be tamed,
I’d slow it down and it speeded up,
I felt I was being gamed,
But then I woke on a Wednesday and
I thought there was something strange,
The man on the news said ‘Thursday’,
Like the days had been rearranged.

The weeks and the months went flying by,
I still kept winding that clock,
Remembering how my father died,
I wouldn’t have dared to stop.
But then one day I forgot to wind
And it slowed, and took me aback,
I held the key, was about to wind
When I had my heart attack.

Luckily Joyce was in the room
Thank god for my lovely wife,
She seized the key and she wound it up
And probably saved my life.
I never forget to wind it now
That clock’s in sync with my heart,
But now my life is racing away
With the clock still playing its part.

David Lewis Paget
raw with love May 2014
tic-toc
goes the clock
you set your eyes on her
and now you're lost

tic-toc
goes the clock
you talk to her
and drown in the pools
of molten gold
that are her eyes

tic-toc
goes the clock
you talk to her
until the sun is up
and her phone battery's flat

tic-toc
goes the clock
you hold her hand
and know you've got her

tic-toc
goes the clock
you hug her tight
and know she's lost

tic-toc
goes the clock
you kiss her with
your deceitful lips

tic-toc
goes the clock
she's all yours and
you possess her

tic-toc
goes the clock
you make her happy
and maybe for a while
you even care

tic-toc
goes the clock
she's truly lost,
she loves you

tic-toc
goes the clock
but you grew bored
and faked it

tic-toc
goes the clock
you left her
and you broke her

tic-toc
goes the clock*
and now even
nursery rhymes
are about you
you *******
him.
Elle Richard Sep 2019
Her
It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a **–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
is there noon on this comparison, and where does the stabilising hour care to fathom the giant and dwarf shadows of original shapes? if there is no magnetism of the clock's hour, minute, second, then the only magnetism apparent in the encircling of digestion / decimalisation, is to say the north of a compass, the compass' north equivalence of a clock's misdirecting eternity: of space for a clock asserting a mingling reason: the compass found it's existential reason in the north, yet the clock found it's "north" without care for magnetism, it equated the north with space, and yet what was encapsulated with rotary qualities? for clock the perpetuation of tick tock in space / for the clock treated space as a one-dimensional abstract, with its three-temporal awareness, and yet the compass said north thrice, and on the fourth said Antarctica was loosened to be explored.*

i'm so tired - lifeless poetry,
make words encoded; i'm so tired,
so tiresome of other people
with bellies filled
and eyes in medium postponing,
to compass the needle
a gravity of servitude for the
clock of 12 (north), 6 (south),
and the disputed 9 (east) with
3 the (west),
darting eyes in Bahamas
for direction coarse yet coerced
by a promise, thus the compass riddling a madness
of constant stimulation with magnetism and
the magnet cursor of orbit -
wound three dimensions of time,
space optional, space always optional,
as ever time over-arching to be understood...
where then the compass, where then the clock,
if the compass led by vector of magnetism
to an uncertain place,
if the clock led by vector of missing magnetism
to a certain place of eased: tick, tock, tick, tock...
will that be equally given a wavering of
east, west, east west.... north, south...
what now?!
A big clock stood tall in the center of a park
With long hands and wood that was carved with much care
The carvings so detailed yet adding a spark
To the trees that surrounded it's great wood frame there

I noticed and awed at the effort at work
For it's hands seemed to reach out to the skies as they search
And i noticed that the hands were all lined in thick gold
The beauty mesmerizing although it was old

As i came up closer to view the great clock
I noticed a problem which came as a shock
The hands were not moving as they lay still and bear
What a shame as this clock was a beauty standing there

But when i looked down to the base of the clock
I could see a gold glimmer as if writing were there
So with curiosity springing in me i immediately flocked
To it's base were i then read aloud with much flair

"Time is but a moment in the span of a life
And a second only the beginning of a minutes ending strike
And forever only the equal to an eternity's one night
So with care every second use wisely for might
As a second is as precious as a minute of time"

As i read out the words more than once in my mind,
And still trying to grasp what intentions did write
A footstep so faint yet my ears could not lie
Approaching me softly ever slowly behind

And turning around an old man met my eye
A man full of years many a season he did mark
His hair white as snow and his face worn and dry
A worried and troubled reflection from his empty glassy eyes

He then said "The big clock's tick
Many a day i privileged saw
The chime of that bell thick
When a child i would awe
Those days were my young years
My body then strong
A lad who with honest fear
Was taught right and the wrong

My parents had raised me
As best as they could
Love, respect and show kindness
Were the things that were good

Back then i despised men who i'd see in our town
How they ruined their lives so freely
It made me shiver, made me frown

I would then tell myself
That i'd never drink or smoke
Vices would not be on my shelf
That my life was no joke

The years went by and i was eighteen
A boy fresh out of school
The excitement of college awaiting
Freedom from home seemed so cool

So i packed my bags and clothes
And bade my parents goodbye
I was now alone to roam the roads
So excited i felt i could fly

So i then got settled in the big city
And studied my wanted degree
First year passed yet oh so quickly
Time passed with the feeling "im free"

I headed straight home on vacation
My family i now longed to see
And spent those days in anticipation
What could next year have in store for me

Vacation ended even more quickly
I almost couldn't leave
But determined to push through this so sickly
My degree ever my goal to achieve

I then met one lad jason
A schoolmate of the same age
Although he from the city's inner mason
Was someone i readily engaged

He then became my room mate
And that is when it began
Jason was different a drinker
My sleep oft disturbed i did hate

Although he tried to lure me
To try even just one
Yet i so promptly rejected
As my conscience no evil had done

I was taught that evil be feared
But then doubtfull thoughts filled my small mind
Had my parents been too strict and weird?
Was there danger i curiously whined


So i thought and i thought and decided
It won't hurt it's just once i confided

So i drank my first beer
And i puffed my first smoke
Then i tried my first stronger drink
This is great though i thought
Not too bad i revoked
As my conscience now beginning to shrink

So i added another exemption
Saying just a little more's fine
Till the alcohol turned into drugs and addiction
I was now pushing it to the line

I would mock at the holy scriptures
And curse God when drunken or high
I would sometimes try and picture
How cruel my family's lies

A year passing by i still loved it
I free and now unrefined
But my vices eventually my health hit
I  was forced then to pause and recline

My body was racked with a fever
And i bound to the bed where i lay
I was sick and now not a believer
I'd forgotten how to pray

My life continued on this way
For years with no restraint
My friends all left but didn't say
Their reason or complaint

I went into depression
My pain and guilt remorse
I needed intervention
Twas time i changed my course

And as i in my darkest hour
Was sinking in despair
My heart's once fresh and lively flowers
Now crushed down burnt and bear

And as i lay in bed that night
For the first time in 3 years
I prayed dear lord please save my life
This pushed me into tears

And while i now was sleeping
I dreamt about that clock
And God as i was still there weeping
Approached me and we talked

He said that life is fragile
That time is not a joke
And day by day time's counting down
Convicted i awoke

And then God said to me what if he
For one day made time still
And on that day i would be free
To clean my life and will

Right then the clock stopped ticking
 Long hands eleven lay
I shocked jumped up heart beating
But i just didn't know what to say

Then HE said my child this is your chance now
To redo the wrongs you've done
And the chance now to change as you have vowed
Will soon be late my son

Live your life while imparting life giving
Love to all the poor one's who need love
With your hands now undo evil's giving
And remind of their Father's great love

Feed the poor and be eyes to the blind one
Give your strength to the crippled and the old
Bring the dying man good news of salvation, my son
For in heaven he shall walk streets of gold

As the time will soon end now forever
And your chance for redemption no more
It's the time now for sins to be severed
As heaven's gates soon open their door
Once the clock is at twelve you will know that,
Tis the end and we're now going home

As his words hit my heart i then waited
I would check how much time i had now
But as i fixed my eyes it all slowly faded
And my bed was what pressed on my brow

I awoke realising that i was sleeping
And the dream was my life counting down
And the more that my sins i'm committing
All the more my head won't wear that crown

See the clock was not there just to tell time
But to also guide ones on their way
Like the man who was lost and ran out of line
The clock was placed there as a sign

Today is the day that we must choose
If today is the day that we will start
To change our life and become true
And learn from our mistakes but move on and do our part

And you keep saying to yourself "ah yes tomorrow"
But again you commit the same wrong
We never know how many more days can be borrowed
As the clock keeps its ticking all along
This poem was inspired by my own life experience...
Kitten Yvad Jun 2020
The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.




But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death”.



It was towards the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.




It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. These were seven—an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different, as might have been expected from the duke’s love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose colour varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example in blue—and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange—the fifth with white—the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the colour of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet—a deep blood colour. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.





It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to harken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.





But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colours and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.




He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fête; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm—much of what has been since seen in “Hernani”. There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There were much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these—the dreams—writhed in and about taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away—they have endured but an instant—and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-coloured panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulged in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumour of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise—then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade licence of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince’s indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood—and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of the Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which, with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

“Who dares,”—he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him—“who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him—that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!”

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly, for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince’s person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple—through the purple to the green—through the green to the orange—through this again to the white—and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry—and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood ***** and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse-like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.



And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
by God the most frightening thing I have ever read. And I have been dreading reading this since the beginning of quarantine. But in the 10th grade I studied this poem for 2 months and it terrified me because I thought it was about Ebola, but it is about Coronavirus in modern times as well as ancient plagues.
Kendall McCann May 2015
8 o'clock* getting started
9 o'clock you want me tonight
10 o'clock poisoned veins, glassy eyes  
11 o'clock feed me perfumed casket lies
12 o'clock I reject you, first time
1 o'clock you light cigarettes
2 o'clock while I ponder
3 o'clock pity or
*4 o'clock
Leenie V Mar 2017
In soft afternoon sunlight, flopped on my small yellow couch, I look over to the shadowed side of the room.

My apartment is pretty sparse, but in pride of place upon some modular furniture there is a white marble mantle clock that used to belong to my grandparents.

It is imperfect: part of the pedimented top is gone; it only works sometimes when I wind it up.

But it is beautiful, particularly its face of ornate numbers surrounded by a bronze filigreed bezel.

I majorly coveted the clock when I would go visit my grandparents as a girl.

After once being shown how to open the glass cover over the face—such a satisfying click when it opened—I  was unable to resist doing so each time I saw the clock, lightly touching and pushing its hour and minute hands, probably contributing to its current damaged state.

Looking at it now takes me back to my grandparents’ home and those moments when I would wander around the house and yard while the adults conversed in the kitchen, the hush of the house a little nerve-wracking.

Where were my grandparents when they bought this clock?

What did they think would happen for the rest of their lives?

I research the clock’s provenance online, looking for the maker and model, and imagine my grandfather selecting this particular clock with care, wanting something to fit the house, the family.

I open a YouTube video of a horologist—who knew?—and he greets me amid a pleasant patter of ticking from the collection of clocks behind him.

I look again at my clock.

Find the meaning in the marble.

Those ornate numbers, that shape of classical architecture—they quietly reproach me.

Am I going about my hours with the dignity that these shapes suggest?

In the face of the clock I see the face of my grandfather, and while the clock does not strike, I hear the voice of my grandfather intoning slowly and deliberately—maybe trying to sound a bit wiser than he was—but wise all the same.

I am still attracted to all things shiny, but hopefully am more restrained now.

I stop the video, and the room is quiet again.

My smartphone is the only accurate timepiece in my apartment, and it of course does not tick.

It has its own sort of shine, a friendly colorful brightness from the dotting of apps on the home screen, but to save the battery I have set it to go black after a few minutes.
Charlotte Jane Jan 2015
Why is it that we are always wanting time to pass quickly?
We're constantly watching the clock, waiting for the minutes to fly by
But we never look at what it really represents
At how every minute that passes
Is a minute of your life that won't ever come back
Can't ever be recovered
As it is lost in the hands of a clock that is forever ticking
Counting down every second
Every minute
Every hour of the rest of our lives.
Each time we look at a clock
Watching the hands slowly tick by
We never do realise the meaning of what it is actually counting down to.
For it isn't really counting that one meeting you don't want to go to
Or that single maths period that feels like it will never end.
No.
That clock is actually counting down towards the final moments of the best times of our lives
The ones that we take advantage of without even realising it
Whether it's our years in school,
Or the last few years of our childhood.
The final few days you have left to spend with a loved one,
Or the true bliss of your first real relationship.

You see, through the good times and the bad
The smiles, the tears and the laughs
The times that you never really want to end,
And the ones you wish were over in a heartbeat;
This clock will be forever in the back of your mind
Counting down the hours, minutes, seconds
Towards the end.
And it's only then that you realise
That you wish to turn it back and start again.
But you don't know how
And those last few hours that you have left
Won't be spent looking at a clock.
But instead will be used to look over every single moment of your life
From the beginning to the end.

And it's only then, that the clock will finally stop ticking.
We never appreciate what's there, till it's gone.
K Apr 2013
a poem about what happened at Lake Silencio, enjoy :)

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

Running all your life,

Hiding from the strife.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock,

Time has come to stop,

Because he couldn't drop.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

She wouldn't let him die,

No matter how he tried.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

Your time has come to end,

So has the bow tie-trend.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

They heard that he would fall,

So they answered her call.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

The doctor did not die,

River looked him in the eye.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

It ends by the lake,

The Universe is at stake.

Tick tock,

Goes the clock.

The question about you,

It is, doctor who?
With each breath,
take in the nourishing
and expel the toxic.
In other words:
In with Chi,
Out with Sha.

Visualize this;
Visualization is akin to Manifestation.
Manifestation is crucial with Chi.
-
Guidelines:

1. As each ****** motion is carried out, a breath is made.
Your breath and the motion begin and end at the same time.

2. Inward motions usually warrant inward breath,
as outward motions usually warrant outward breath

3. Nothing is ever the same twice. Neither you, nor the motions you do.
Everything is in flux

4. The movements of T'ai Chi are not dissimilar from
the movements of Water amongst rocks:

Fluent. Changing.
The more yielding,
yet the more powerful;

Such is the Tao, and thus Chi.
Such is Wu-Wei.
Such is Consciousness,
Such is Physics,
Such is Reality.
Such should we practice.
-
Begin:

In a standing position with your feet a few inches apart and parallel;
Cup your hands, one in the other, with or without thumbs touching.
Close your Eyes and take at least Five deep breaths, or better yet; meditate.
Clear your Mind. Let the ripples settle.
1.
Breathe in as you arc your Right Foot away from the Left until they are shoulder width apart.
2.
Breathe out as you bend your knees slightly and keep your spine vertical.
The further you squat, the more of a workout this is for your legs
and more of a stretch for your lower back.
3.
Breathing in, draw your hands up to shoulder height, palms down.
Visualize a vortex of energy under your hands.
4.
Exhaling, lead with the wrists with palms outward,
drop your hands slowly to waist level.
5.
Inhaling, visualize holding a large ball in front of your torso;
place your Left Hand palm down at shoulder height over your chest
and the Right Hand palm up at waste level.
6.
Exhaling, turn your torso but not hips to face 3 o'clock,
radially following the direction the top hand is pointing.
7.
Inhaling, look forward to 12 o'clock.
8.
Exhaling, twist similarly to look at 9 o'clock.
9.
Inhaling, look forward to 12 o'clock.
10.
Exhaling, look again at 3 o'clock and drop your top hand down to waste level, pushing
and bring your bottom hand forward and up, palm facing your face
11.
Still facing 3 o'clock, inhale and draw both hands to your left hip, pretend as if you hold a ball;
visualize a ball of energy between your palms.
12.
Turn your feet to 3 o'clock in the same locations they are in.
Push the ball towards 3 o'clock and up, as if to let a bird fly;
visualize that ball of energy flying away, to be shared with the world.
13.
Inhale createing a circle with your arms vertically in front of you
by pulling your wrists up, then pulling towards your shoulders,
then exhale, pushing slightly down and away.
14.
Inhale as you face towards 12 o'clock,
pointing your feet again towards 12 o'clock.
Draw your Right Hand to your forehead, with space and palm out
with your Left Hand at waste level and centered, fingers pointed down and palm facing inwards
(sort of like a dance move from "Walk like an Egyptian, actually..).
15.
Moving in circles and constantly breathing,
greet North, East, South and West by alternating the hand that's on top in a circular pattern,
ending with the Left Hand before your forehead
and your Right pointed down, thumb away from you.
16.
Exhaling, step forward with your Left foot about two feet
and drop down so your downward pointed Right Hand is a few inches above the ground,
still with Spine straight
17.
Pretend to draw an arrow from a Quiver by your Right Hand;
inhaling, draw your hand up then back, holding your Left Hand in front, as if holding a bow
18.
Exhaling quickly, Release the Arrow
19.
Lean forward and catch the Arrow of Chi with both hands
and bring it towards your Solar Plexus, inhaling. Merging.
Once your hands are at your stomach, roll your wrists towards you and bring your hands to your waist.
I imagine the motion of water around a rock to assist with making the motions of the wrist.
Bring your feet together, a few inches apart and parallel
20.
Stretch up and out with your arms and breathe deeply.
21.
Bow forward and exhale slowly with your palms on the sides of your thighs.
22.
Cup your hands in front of you and meditate.
-
It is up to you to do it again, to do something else, or to just keep meditating.
Follow thy Path. :)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kuq25gHT9Mg

The first form demonstrated is the form in this writing, the second is another one I know.

I confess, I am rusty as hell.
But, that's why I'm doing it.
Simone Mar 2010
The clock strikes 6, her hairs already up
        Every strand perfectly placed
The clock strikes 7, her outfits all laid out
        Down to the shoes perfectly laced
The clock strikes 8, her makeup skillfully applied
        Not one flaw or blemish to see
The clock strikes 9, down the stairs she goes
        Standing in the door like a prince waiting for she
The clock strikes 10, she's smiling at him
        He gets her straight down to the core
The clock strikes 11, she's in total bliss
        She's never felt this way before
The clock strikes 12, her nights almost over
        He walks her to the door and ends it with a kiss
The clock strikes 1, shes in her bed
        Dreaming of her night and shining armor Chris
NOLWAZI JOUBERT Sep 2015
When the clock strikes at four
my mind will not be at rest anymore,
when the clock strikes at four
this little energy i have will be fully drained,
these pillars of mine will be very weak
and unstable to hold my body  anymore.

When the clock strikes at four
i will be tired of forgetting,
my hand will not be able to keep the pen dancing,.my thoughts will be saturated by you
i cannot do it anymore
i can hardly bare sitting here anymore.

Its a Friday
After such a long day yesterday.
Tomorrow is Saturday
And thanks God that i will be home tonight.
I shall fail to cope because my mind roams in thoughts
saturated by my plans for tomorrow.

It is 8o'clock on the wall,
the moment for me to start trying to solve for X's
at nine i will have to retell the story of Animal Farm,
the death of Othello and anylse those poems.
At 10:30 i will be free
an additional language always makes my day.
But when the clock strikes at one
my soul will be gone and my body will be shut down,
i shall await for the clock to strikes 3:30
before some little excitment kicks in.

When the clock strikes at four,
i shall carry my bags with me and
get drifted away by the wind like
chaff.
I shall find my way home,
only to get a peace of mind and a hot bath.
And then think about you until i nearly drawn,
when the clock strikes at four,
i know i will be going home today.
Just one typical boring day at school
I Anonymous Feb 2018
the clock is ticking
and i am very afraid
afraid to live
in a world where i probably won't see my old age
in a world where nuclear war, global warming, and people killing innocent children is all the rage
for about a week
until the news has a new obsession to seek
the clock is ticking
and my heart should at the least drop in fear
when i hear that another massacre had occurred
with 17 victims. hashtag MSD strong
just give it a month, the news will move along
the clock is ticking
and at six years old we should not be reciting our abc's
as we hide where a bad man cannot see.
I thought that everybody was welcome at school
why can't the man with the toy gun can't come in too?
the clock is ticking
and what the hell is wrong with your generation?
instead of address the problem you train us to solve it by hiding under tables

if my friend can take one look at his campus and infer
in the event of an armed intruder,
the juniors would be the first to go
and uh oh there's no escape from the basement classrooms
because to them, the media is only fake news.
the clock is ticking
and i should be worrying about what i'm going to wear tomorrow
or if that boy i pass by in the halls will notice me
I should be staying up all night studying for chem
Instead of sobbing under my sheets at 1 AM
worrying if this day is going to be my last.
or if a gunman were to come he'll just walk past,
maybe forget why he's here or maybe he'll just disappear into thin air.
the clock is ticking
and i will not be silent.
because valentines are for chocolates and candy hearts
not the feeling of your soul get ripped apart
you knew this boy,
he might not have been your friend and to be honest you suspected
that he could be your end
the clock is ticking
and i will not be silent
because at concerts all you need to hear are beating drums
not the beating of your racing heart
as bullets reign from up in the sky, you sang of God only moments ago so why
is He punishing us like this?
The clock is ticking
And I will not be silent
because clubs are partying hard and spending the next morning in the bathroom
not cowering with 22 others in a bathroom stall
waiting for the gunfire to come to an end and you only came to have a nice night with your girlfriend
and you can't tell if this is her blood or yours
the clock is ticking
and the glass walls are shattering.
but my bullets are words
and i will not go down in silence.
OnlyEggy Jan 2012
Stared at a clock today
   it was broken
it ticked slower and slower
until it's time seemed to be frozen
     Even in it's current state
It would be right twice a day

                                                *  I was reminded of lie I was once told
                                               it had left me broken, bitter
                                                          ­    battered and cold
                                                        But even this lie would've been made true
                                                     if it was left to sit unfixed
                                                                ­   and I let those emotions brew

I stared at the clock, unimpressed
the clock had stopped,
         twelve o'clock it read
but I knew that it was taunting, teasing
   and I believed what it said

                                                        *Th­ere, I stood, alone and naked
                                                           ­    debating with myself if I stood
                                                         broken      and      forsaken    
                               ­                                  or if this was the start of the new
                                                           the beginning of the path less taken
                                                   for whichever I stood to believe, this I knew
                                                            ­where I stood then, that was the catalyst
                                                       and where I will be next can't be presumed
                                                        ­     but for this moment, this second in time
                                                        is the only time it will be my center, my middle

                                                         ­                   my noon

And with a taunting tick, this clock
began to move again
tock, tick; tick, tock
     and without a show of face
I stared in surprise
the clock began to run backward
         began to mock
Turning back time
  seconds, hours
     whispering, shimmering
tempting with the ability to rewind
                                                   time
                                                            ­              
                                                                ­           *   ...and her face began to focus in my thoughts
                                                        ­                                      the ringing in my ears became clear
                                                           ­                        became screaming
                                                       ­                                                    and the pain I had wrought faded
                                                           ­                  and the scars done to me dissipated
                                                                ­                   just for a second, I was watching myself
                                                          ­                                          holding her, touching her, * despising her
                                                           ­                         
                                                                ­                                                           ...and I awake alone
                                                           ­                                     sweating                    ­
                                                                ­                                                                 ­        yearning                
                                                                ­                                            scars burning                   
                                      ­                                                                 ­                                                 stomach turning
           
*And   down   the   hall   the   clock   can   be   heard   with   it's   ominous,   taunting   tick-tock   ticking   into *    
                                                      ­                             *oblivion
(AIP)
Ms Levinson Apr 2015
Clock is sea animals
Clock is a mock
Clock is a rock
Clock get you up
Clock get you dow
Samantha Dietz Oct 2016
two o'clock in the morning
your eyes glow against the moon
who would have know that i
would fall so hard, so soon?

three o'clock in the morning
whiskey and a cigarette
there stood a sweet young couple
who looked a bit upset

four o'clock in the morning
the music is winding down
everyone is sleeping
not a soul makes a sound

five o'clock in the morning
she refuses to tell him goodbye
as soon as that car leaves the lot
she feels like she is going to die

six o'clock in the morning
the smell of coffee is bold
she's making banana pancakes
for two, though alone and cold

seven o'clock in the morning
she saw him in her dreams that night
it crippled her upon waking
she almost forgot his beautiful eyes

eight o'clock in the morning
he needed to hear her voice
the only thing that could calm him
so he was left with little choice

nine o'clock in the morning
she watched the sunrise and cried
he had absolutely no idea
her denial of love was a lie
Jeuden Totanes Apr 2014
I grab the wooden chair
and pulled it
through rooms
and up the stairs
I kicked the door open
A cold wind blew
the sketches of you
rose to the air
and settled down together
beside my lonely bed

And so I pulled
the chair, and brought it
to the wall
I hesitated for a moment
and heaved out a sigh
I brought up a foot
and forced myself up
until my nose
almost brushed the wall clock

My warm breath
made the clock's glass clouded
Two hands grasped the clock
Two feet managed to stay firm
as I stood on the chair
and dismounted the wall clock

Finally, I sat down
on the chair
on the old wooden chair
and my fingers
found its way
at the clock's back

I twisted, and twisted
and twisted
I closed my eyes
and opened them
to see the clock's hands
revolving counterclockwise

for a second i just stared
and stared
and stared
then closed my eyes
and opened them again
to stare..

My fingers suddenly became tired
and the clock's hands seemed to stop

Tears
fell on its glass
they rolled
and found their way
towards
number 6

the day you left me
the day it ended

the day you died.
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
Coffee or tea
perks me.
Too much!
Wine time.
Wind down.
Morning time
is round the clock.

Coffee or tea
perks me.
Too much!
Wine time.
Morning time
is round the clock.

Round the clock
R
  o
    u
   n
d
t
h
   e
     c
     l
    o
  c
k
Time.
Round clock.

Too much!
Wine down clock.
Dan Shay Feb 2010
clock in
clock out
beat off

get drunk
get high
quick

my jacket
with a bag
in the pocket

where is it
i love
drinking money

clock in
clock out
get out of it
elan eden Dec 2010
With ghastly cries the clock doth bound
Every sound to earth and ground
Only it sees times grim rounds
Clock! Have mercy on this soul
Once a child now I'm old
The grave outside will soon have bones
Let death not vist to this home
Clock! Go to time and plead my case
Let this life be not erased
Let me slip through times cracks untraced
Let me keep my youths young face
Clock! You tick without a word
Do you not comprehend whats heard?
And earth! For time you must have cure
For you stay pure and so unturned
And I grew weak with thoughts absurd
Clock! I understand your chains
That time may only have reins
But still I'll look to find a way
To cheat on time and shed my fate
With ghastly cries the clock doth bound
Every sound to earth and ground
Sonny Day Sep 2013
It's 3am,
or so the clock says
Maybe it's just crazy like me

For a girl's heart
that it wants in
But it's not sure it has the key

Its mind is preoccupied
with other things now
And it can't seem to function quite right

It tries to sleep
as time gets lost
But it simply ticks through the night

So maybe it’s not
as late as it says
And time still needs to be found

Maybe the clock
gave that girl its key
And the clock still needs to be wound

If the clock finds its key
it finds time and love
a function and a purpose

Reunited with her
its heart can tick true,
a shine gleaming from its surface

But sadly, I know
this is all believe
For a clock could have no heart

Which sadly means
the clock is fine
And I'm the one falling apart

Perhaps the clock
can serenade me
And help me rest my eyes

Maybe the clock
can distract my heart
From its desperate beating tries

But in the end I know
the clock’s soft ticks
Can't outweigh thoughts that keep me awake

It's just too much to love
such a precious Jewel
When you'll never have what it takes
Nicole Potter May 2013
So many conflicting thoughts,
As time ticks on the clock.
     What to do,
                        Where to go?
      Time ticks on the clock.

So many shocked ideas,
So Hard to find the Truth.

     Time ticks on the clock
             What to do,
                                Where to go,
      Time to find the Truth?
       Settle down,
                           Find 'Home Ground'
                Create the Standard Life?

So many hard times fought
That impact carries on,
       Time ticks on the clock.

Never been the standard
Don't know my good manners,
         So Hard to learn falsehoods...
       Time ticks on the clock.

You want to change the world?
Control conflicting thoughts.
                                Don't know Home,
                                Where I'll go?
       Time ticks on the clock.

Find a settle
                   or use the chaos
Control conflicting thoughts.
                       Create no standards,
                                                      ­   No good manners.
       Time ticks on the clock...




**May 9, 2013
Advent Oct 2014
when the clock ticks at 12,
another minute has passed and another day has been renewed.
it replenishes an entire moment that separates yesterday from today.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a part of me has left something for good.
something that could only be retrieved by the nostalgia
of the passing hours that gives a pang of discomfort and dismay.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a fairy godmother is there waiting for me to move past everything and start fresh,
like nothing has ever happened from yesterday

but when the clock ticks at 3,
my emotions are scattered,
eating me alive.
it kicks me out of the zone - exposing me to a world of nothing but things to hide.
it haunts my core, dwells with my demons,
building up emotions that don't seem to collide

and at 3, I find you - once again with all the sublime images we’ve captured
and grand words we’ve uttered.
i find you, drowning from the roots
of my memoirs... and there I see how midnights took parts of me

because at 3, I’ll always remember how I grew with thee


a.t.

— The End —