What a sharpening throat the raven must have,
to turn every word into a perfect attack.
to turn every word into a perfect attack.
Lonely, dazed and betrayed,
trying to trick my body into some sleep I’m never gonna get.
The birds quicken its pace,
being the only ones my heart seems to care.
I’m never gonna leave this land, full of chasing frogs and jealous hopes,
wishing I never get to hear the ticking clock.
Something the clock has compels the deer to stay,
as if staying would make cleaner the ocean, or even safer promises.
“None of this is fake nor real” says the witch,
“Just dashing enough to blind those who can actually see.”
Tick tack, the whisper in the woods is gone.
Trees hold me around the waist, and I see the kid who thinks to know how to fly,
unsure about whether he is right, I utter “Fly! The ticking clock.”
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Comments3
A great write about the passing of time and the sound that a clock makes to remind us. The crickets and frogs no, they mark no time just lulling us to sleep and dream. Well done
Thank you so much! ❤️
Most welcome
Wow. What an imaginative ✍️. Hreat story. Great poem. I thouroughly enjoyed this.
Thank you so much! That means a lot ❤️
This is lovely! I enjoyed reading it!
Thank you so much!! ❤️
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