The sticky hands of clocks
Children do steal away
Please stop all the spinning.
Years tick by; gears tick-tock
Earth is getting dizzy,
Many moons a-going,
I long for each past phase,
Reflecting, it’s busy—
work. Play, while silent growth
Sneaks up—it draws them up,
Lines on walls are climbing,
Marking the heads of both
Beside dried fingerprints,
Cosmic clues that linger,
Still. I can’t erase them
Maybe in increments
-
Author:
eckardcb (
Offline) - Published: October 2nd, 2026 13:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
Bit by bit the impossible is accomplished. This poem speaks of time and its inevitable movement. Well done
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.