Backwards To The Future
Everywhere I go I see a timepiece looking at me;
its hands at the ready to signal the time:
tick-tock, tick-tock, it reminds me
that the present is passing,
the future is approaching,
pressing me to move on, to do something.
Those interminable hands moving clockwise,
subverting my freewill, fettering me,
telling me when and where I should be.
So I got myself a friendly clock:
one of much agreeable face,
and a sense of humour.
It mimics other clocks
but derides and mocks,
its hands move anti-clockwise,
taking me backwards to the future.
I love that clock for its audacity.
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