Poems

the dead clock

Even if the mind be living,

The clock is dead

Even to the ones most giving,

It never leaves its bed.

What is a clock that doesn't move

There is never a ticking groove.

A strange rhythm continues in the clock

As if a person screaming

Without any noise

Dead silence.

But then how does it echo in my mind?

The clock is dead

Even if it could be fed,

It does absolutely nothing

Yet I hear it screaming

A silent scream

Echoing in my ears.

Why does it scream?

Why is it alive

When it is actually dead?

I wish to rescue whatever is trapped inside

Whatever seems to be begging for help

But I'm unwise

I do not know how

So I broke it apart

And because the screaming didn't stop,

I began ignoring it.

-milo