Bare Essence of Time

The clock ticks.
It is a fastidious
amplifier of mechanization.

The watch is wound willingly
as it shows the futile
passage of life
to wary souls who are
passing and waiting.

Waiting for
a slow death.

A sense grows between
a broken silence of each tick
Without a glitch,
it never stops.

I look up at the wall.
There are little yellow stains
that must carry the rust in the water
from a metal roof
that should never be.

I follow a crack to the wall,
and run my finger to the sill.
It is wet and the glass is cold.

I see and wish I were there among
the birds
which are careless and without servitude.
They stir the wind with their wings
as they swirl in a choreography without a plan.

I take off my watch
and I can hear precision.
I tuck it away so far
in the drawer
to muffle its sound
and hide its reminder.

I take off my shoes
to walk barefoot in the
wet grass before I sleep.

Comments 4 comments

alternate poet profile image

alternate poet 6 years ago

Really like this one! we are all time-slaves I guess, those times when we escape are precious ! Nicely written, keep em coming! I am about to put up a poem about logic today, just polishing it now :)

Ben Evans profile image

Ben Evans 6 years ago Author

Thank you very much. I will keep writing.

efab profile image

efab 6 years ago from UK

A beautiful piece of poetry Ben :-)

Ben Evans profile image

Ben Evans 6 years ago Author

Hey thanks a lot efab.

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