Clockwork
The alarm clock is a blaring fire alarm, typically it can be ignored.
The bed is a lost silent comfort.
The shower head is a rushing river, its waves cascading into the bottom of the bath,
till it shuts off and becomes a trickle of rain.
Drip, drop, drip, drop.
The coffee machine, a squealing train whistle.
Eyes clenched shut at the hammering pounding that ensues.
Finally sitting down, the chair's springs squish.
The Bible opens, a magnitude dropping.
Words drop out. Falling heavy on the ears,
its message of freedom turns to one of frustration.
It grates, nails on a chalkboard.
Words dropping out, pounding into the skull, the coffee is still squealing
Another alarm clock goes off this time like a siren,
The sink in the kitchen, this time it's a stormy ocean.
Drip, drop, drip... drop!
There's clicking clacking of plates, crashing cymbals that remain off beat.
You'd really wish it ALL WOULD JUST BE QUIET!
Thoughts become beating drums, banging in an uneven harmony.
Then there's the clock on the far wall. A metronome in its own right, counting down the beat of the day.
Marking the clockwork in which we live our lives.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Drops and Pen Stains
PoetryTravesty, overcome by little else but life's muses; It's jokes. All of this is my original poetry, please do not steal
