It's an affair,
One of the clock.
That ticks in beat,
With my nimble stride.
Could it be the start,
Or perhaps the end.
This ring is familiar,
Is it already twelve?
I ask standing still,
Above yet also below.
With eyes so curious,
But somehow closed.
A wicked pulse,
Inside my ear.
That moves my feet,
One only I can feel.
In temptation and fear,
Of all those near.
-
Author:
Thinker (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 9th, 2021 23:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments1
(an intriguing read,
and thanks for inspiring my little scribbled reply dear poet)
we are but fallible human's, after all
although - once we've inked words
of such self-revealing insight
we have no place to hide
for Acting - on
those Unsavoury and animalistic Urges...
(let us always: Strive to Better
those Based - and shadow-less, aspects
within our Self loathingly, weak-willed traits
of depraved Cruelty: we are All born
with the Capacity to Inflict, thoughtlessly...!)
'So instead:
Choosing to Love - considerately
as We, also
would like to be appreciated - Amorously'
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