The Clock Threw It's Arms Around You... Poem by GRANT FRASER

The Clock Threw It's Arms Around You...



The clock
whenever I hit
'The Stance',
that's a place by the way,
where I go...

yeah! the clock is there
at the top of the biggest
lobby of this town,

and it faces four ways,

so wherever your at,
you are someone or
somewhere else too, maybe?

the one who works,
or the one going home,
or the one out and about,

to be the clock...

heart springs tired,
and the bells do not work,
hands are slower,
numbers grow numb,

why stick me here,
I look and count,
ok!

1...2...3...

...twenty,

it's been thirty ticks,
since I had a half decent
thought of my own,

yeah! you just look back
as if misunderstood,

talking incessantly,
without any outward signs,
yet I'm counting on something,

don't ever think
I just spread out,
and stand here,
justifying little,
while the whole ********!
goes down the drain,

but the Nine and three
would get me!
hands cover up the face,

your heart is a desert,
and what good is it to you?
time is running in, not out,
and it is yours every second,

and admittedly we're both going
to stop, everything will...
now your - I'm led to believe -

tocking....

you need these arms
before you'll understand
any others,
like what kind of fence
goes all the way around?

the vital organs...

Monday, March 17, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success