The Elusive Clock

Tick. Tick. Tick.
Recorded and throbbing.
Measured like a dying heartbeat.
This thing, so occult
With or without it
we would continue on
living as we always had.
Freely, no chains on Father Time.
No chains--
spinning us into misery
as we pull out our hair
scurrying, tripping over our own peace
Tick. Tick. Tick.
All-powerful,
it ticks us submissive
painting away our colourful humanity
as we run
following orders we believe to be ours
and ours alone
Tick.

Reviews

[trainwreck]

This was creative.