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The clock strikes one and I'm done.
A poignant reminder of time passing by.
The clock strikes two and I'm through.
Hours full of turmoil and absurdity.
The clock strikes three but am I free?
I'm lacking tenacity to embrace my reality.
The clock strikes four and I face the door.
Each day I comply on standby.
The clocks strikes five but am I alive?
Have my wounds recovered sufficiently?
The clock strikes six and I'm hit with bricks.
Debilitated with a lack of longevity.
The clock strikes seven with assertion.
Time is now palpable yet unforeseeable.
The clock strikes eight but is it too late?
It's daunting and taunting but invigorating?
The clock strikes nine with so little time. Wishing to deviate from anonymity.
The clock strikes ten with no end.
Discerning illusions from reality.
The clock strikes eleven...but I will win.
My last fight against time is approaching,
But I'm also learning,
Time is fleeting,
But each day I'm breathing,
And each day is passing,
The past I'll be forgetting,
And no longer regretting,
And finally living,
Midnight.
...Goodnight
YOU ARE READING
Anything But Ordinary
PoetryA collection of original poems and thoughts with rhymes of a wandering mind that is anything but ordinary.
