In between the hands of hours, time swept under a door to the house of life,

It went somewhere untraceable, minute mice lightly breathing

Behind rooms of overlarge things, in nests of seconds comprised of

The smallest memories, not even a human could remember.


The clock struck midnight, this grand mahogany monument,

Behind the glass, a snow-faced grandfather,

With silver tick tocks, racing for years, at an unchangeable pace,

Wound its gears through golden years in the house of life,


Managed meaning and enforced its laws, though never realizing;

Some had watched its motions, tensed up, rushed, remembered, forgot,

Some followed it time like roads, and they drove on, never knowing where to go,

Until accident or attraction.


And then there were one or two who knew, through clever nights, listening,

Waiting for the clock to talk, and realizing that time answers for no one,

Because time is relatively false.

For that, they were the wisest.


Reply Button

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s