Tick Tock, Pass The Buck
Poetry Beams # 39
The clock is a favorite bystander to the most elusive asset out of everything - Time. Here I detail, how it’s present everywhere, witnessing every tale in our lives. Desired, unconscious, but strongly conscious. Stay tuned. Read along.
A constant stutter of needles, keeping
itself vibrating, and defining
your time and efforts. No matter what
it keeps ticking on, without abut.
Promises made out, detention
seeking, but sans attention,
and demands that pay, to scale
a greater story, not turning pale.
The voices keep asking you, what more,
what next, where to, what to do. But at core,
beyond bricks of fortune, how much.
How little, you do all that is such.
Parched paths of growth, show
true colors with a strong glow.
Demand what belongs to them,
to solemnly grow up to stem.
A consent to arouse the world,
from their solace, laying curled.
Awaken it may, within those carved
designs of flowers freshly served.
The clock will tick harder, showing
reluctance, its protest, to growing.
As it’s a witness to the mess around
you, there, but not all found.
