The second hand twitches
Like a bewitched cricket,
The minute hands wait patiently for
The thin rod to spring ahead
But it seems that time is dead.
The hour hand trudges along,
But stops as the second hand's ticking song
Comes to an end
It stares, glares, wondering how long
It takes to prepare a tiny leap like this
The clock is getting furious as kids ask, curious,
Why it has stopped. Where has the time gone?
Or was it not even here all along?
YOU ARE READING
Jars of Stars
RandomThis is a collection of the poems I've typed up on my iPad. I've noticed I enjoy incorporating nature and space into my poetry, so if you dig nature and space read my poems! Some of them are dark, some are brighter, some rhyme and some are just word...
