Time ticks its lonely tocks
across the weathered face
of the lonesome clock.
A wilted flower in a vase,
reminds of a time when time was ours.
A photograph memory
sits firmly in place,
but time is fading the edges slightly.
The stars once shined so brightly,
now they blot out in the inky sky
one slow heartbeat at a time.
The age-worn
hands creak
slowly
mimicking the beat
of this heart so lonely.
The numbers all blur
like vapour
in the whispering air.
I remember love once lived here.
or was it just a bumbled affair, where
I was only there to pass time,
and another strip
of my heart tears,
falls to the
concrete floor
and dies there.
Time speaks in riddles,
and I’m left in a muddle.
Trying to find the middle
whilst I’m lost pacing around
on the outside, panicking
abound the cycling time
and the spinning
is making me feel ill.
Was any of it real?
The love you poured out to me,
became a flood
and I was just a boat at sea.
Is it my destiny to be lost
until the hands of time wear free
and fall to the floor
where the remains
of my heart used to be?
Before the tides
washed it out to sea
along with my
slight grasp of sanity.
Time turns
on torturous terms.
It lets you feel,
then gives you pain in return .
It makes you yearn
for the heart
you haven’t seen
for so long, the one that
used to beat so strong,
the one that lives in the
cavern in your own
mountainous shell.
But time ticks its lonely tocks
and those locks of hair sway
in your memory
fading a little more day by day.
