The slow ticking hands
creep achingly past.
Casting glancing shadows
over the vast gaps
of the weathered face.
The creaking sound,
gasping for air,
clicks as it
snaps into place.
The sedate ticking hands
crawl through
the misty gloom that looms,
towers over you
in those cavernous spaces
that consume. The gaps
between minutes, between hours.
Whilst forever
is catching up.
and someday is only
a short breath away,
somewhere
in the distance.
Those big empty
spaces on the face,
filled with shadows
of impending seconds.
Minutes away the hours start again.
Never ending.
Ticking to their own steady rhythm,
but here in this little pocket universe,
time semes to be nothing
but a short verse, repeated into infinity.
The steady groan,
as the hands roam
over that empty expanse.
Where near and far
meet in equilibrium.
Where they dance
to the awful grind.
The clicks remind
that the second hand
never sticks
when the ticks and tocks
follow so quick.
Thanks for reading
Today is my birthday,
so i thought id get myself unravelled
in a journey travelled through time.
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