The Face In The Clock Poem by Sonny Rainshine

The Face In The Clock

Rating: 4.5


Life has become for him
metered pulses of time,
a rosary of sequenced spaces.
Minutes: small beads,
hours: large beads,
decades, days,
weeks, repetitions.

And the numbers on the clock
seem also like
strung beads,
an invisable hand
pushing toward
the next Ave Maria,
the next Pater Noster,
the next sorrowful
mystery.

Peas in a pod,
the seconds seem
frozen and unwilling
to thaw into minutes.
Time has run down;
it no longer flees
toward culmination
toward resolution
toward fulfillment.

He feels
that something must be done
about time,
that he grows more anxious
by the minute;
he’s unwinding.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Goldy Locks 23 October 2007

good build-up here. he's gonna have to find some other subject/system with which to buck heads with: time is a losing battle. best care, sjg

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