Time Poem by Quinn Ferry

I want to stop time for you.
The tick-tock is the heart beat of a monster that wants to eat you
but only at the rate of one small bite, every immeasurable moment because it knows you're trying to count from ten to zero like a man on anesthesia.
I'll hold the hands of a clock back until it tick-tocks no more.
I will wind back the small hand and watch a grain of sand and a grain of sand and a grain of sand fall back into the upper clasp of the hour glass that is your life.
I will reach for the big hand like its father time's and I'll nickel and dime him for every minute he ever rushed you through.
Until your fear of tomorrow and the heart beat of the beast that tick-tocks is no more.
You told me you were afraid of the way the future makes you worry like life is the flurry of checks on calendars and the hurry of promises you would rather not keep.
So I look at you and say,
'The future is just the day that everyone anticipates and never actually comes.'
There are those that will tell you otherwise-
The 'wise' men with Monday through Sunday planned ahead from April of next year up until the day the fall dead.
Where is the beauty in having everything laid out for you?
They wear a wrist watch like a noose and every minute to pass, it feels a little less loose.
Tighter than their schedules, more unsettling than their affection for planning being greater than that of the plans themselves.
Today is lost in their planning tomorrow.
They miss the kiss life had, had they leapt out and grabbed it like a math teacher that covets the beauty in calculation.
My present for you, my present for them is
the present moment.
And if you won't have it, I'll make time fly.
Not because of all of the fun you think you'll be having in a couple of months, but because
your clock is going out the damn window.
I will travel to London and take Big Ben hostage.
I'll hold back the two cold metal hands that conduct you like an orchestra, an orchestra that would rather play Jazz music because
Where is the beauty in knowing what will happen next, every time you pick up your instrument?
I will smash the clock that looms over you.
The one you wake and fall asleep to.
I'll steal away the metal hands of that beast so I can take away your fear.
I will reach for its heart and I will pull out a gear because
The only time that matters is now and here.