My Bucket of Time

I just felt like making something. _('.')_/

Can you hear it?

Time

Drip-dropping through the cracks in the ceiling.

Drip

Drop.

Tick

Tock.

Then chimes the clock,

And the sun has set once more.

Night falls, sun rises.

Repeat.

Tick tock. Drip drop.

Like a punishment from the Gods.

The crack in my ceiling rows bigger each day,

Like cracks in my mind, slowly eating up my sanity.

Soon, there will no longer be a crack on my roof,

Just a big, empty chasm.

An empty, grey sky.

An empty canvas.

Drip drop. Tick tock.

Tonight, I'll leave a bucket out,

To collect some of time's essence.

One day, Time will run out of juice.

And like that

Everything stops.

Tick tock.

Drip drop.

Tick tock.

Drip drop.

Tick.

Tock.

Drip.

Drop.

Tick

But I still have my little bucket of time,

And perhaps it'll just keep me going

A little while longer....

Reviews

[Vicky]

Excellent. Not much needs to be said. The sound of a clock is iconic, you didn't even really need to use the word clock. But the poem was really good. And I like that time, such a flowy thing drips and drops into a bucket no less. Such inelegant things.

[angelina neves]

lovely!
I like the idea of having a "bucket of time" to keep going !