Three… Slow… Hands…
Ticking so harshly
Three slow hands
Shaking my core
Three slow needles
Ever, yet nothing – more
How I voyaged through time
Traversed its mark on tragedy
Gazed across its cold stare
Fixed, but never still
Sulking beat by jugular beat
In vane I thought to dismiss it
How it ruled me so
In truth I ought to have simply
Let it go
But stationed time always brings
That cold and dark mirror
Dragging with it sober reflection
That is oft so unwelcome
By morning I’ll be different
A second thought of what I am
Some half-chanced backward glance
Into a past that never was
And in the morning I’ll be bruised
As time beats me down
Beat by jugular beat
And I, doing everything, in vane…
© 2008 Fantecstasy
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/16652/106989 on Tuesday December 02nd, 2008 01:38 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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