In Treatment Poem by matthew broxton

I can hear a clock ticking,
a bell striking,
battery's running low.
My eyes are blurred
and light's getting dim.

That clock keeps on ticking,
time passing by,
I'm not a spider,
you certainly aren't a fly.

I WANT THAT clock to stop ticking,
prevent time from marching on.
Roll over the leaves,
turn the pages,
feeling frustrated,
that nothing changes.

Mistakes are made,
responsibilities are taken again.
That clock keeps on ticking,
the bell strikes again and again,
across the road,
the prison eyes are on me,
a crossroad seen,
a road not taken.

A blade makes a cut,
a flame still burns,
hacking at the stone,
wanting hope to be reborn.