The hand reached out towards escape
From a perfect unbroken cage,
But pulled back to reality
It rotates for an age.
All it wishes is to run away from
Ticking ticking time,
Its purpose of existence in
Itself is but a crime.
The hand that turns accused numbers
From boundaries one and twelve
And at each point a person finds
Or loses in themselves
The drive to put away this tool that
keeps us in one place
To never look again upon
Its staring ticking face.
The curse of time held in its place
It never can escape,
From turning round a ticking clock
Never early nor is it late.
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Very timely… (get it?)
I saw you followed my blog and I thought I recognized you from PMAOs blog and then I came over here and guess who commented already. He gets around…
Nice poem. It’s kind of sad…never escaping, but the consistency of each second is comforting in a way too.
Hi! yes, i found your blog through PMAO-he’s a handy guy for finding interesting blog.
I like to have both sad and contrasting emotions in my poems-it gives them a balance that i like. Thanks for commenting!
No problem, and speaking of contrasts, the blog you followed is my good blog. The fun, I mean bad one is http://nothobblingnow.wordpress.com/ just in case you get bored at the good one.
ok, i’ll follow that one too =)