The Hand Of Time

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.

English: Street clock in Globe, Arizona, USA F...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

6 thoughts on “The Hand Of Time

  1. Pingback: The Clock Ticks On Without Us « Work the Dream

  2. 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.

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