Jack Growden

(1997 / Townsville, Australia)

Four White Walls


Upon a blank white wall
A broken clock ticks,
Though time has not stopped
It’s a pleasant mirage
Once one forgets
It’s shy of six.

Genuine soothing rest
Is disturbed by time,
Or at least the thought
Of it and future woes
Which come to haunt
At a clock’s chime.

So that clock resides on
A wall of white paint -
No coincidence -
Which is accompanied
By three others,
Simple; not quaint.

Thus I could visit lush
Fields and waterfalls
And pretend I’m cleansed.
Though clarity is found
Here, in this room
With four white walls.

Submitted: Thursday, February 27, 2014
Edited: Thursday, March 13, 2014

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Copyright Jack Growden,2014.

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