Poems

.1

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Tick..

The grandfather clock down the hall. The small golden watch that sits on your wrist. They all tick. Their words, the same. Their tones, all different.

The clock, I find, is soothing to listen to. It's like a heart beat. It ticks, daily, doing it's job. It's interesting. How an inanimate object can have something like a heart beat. But I find the clock's ticking soothing. It's almost like understanding another language.

As I write this now, my small pocket watch sits on my shelf. Ticking away, waiting to be worn tomorrow. I've had my watch for a month now, and already my wrist feels naked without it. Almost like a companion for my wrist.

Companions. They could be companions. For, watches are becoming smarter now. They almost could be, companions.

But how can a watch be a companion? It simple sits and ticks away, counting down all the remanding seconds.. minutes... hours.. of our lives

Not even a watch knows when our time is up. For a watch, is simply a watch.

Why are they called watches? I've always wondered that. Surely, it's because they keep watch of the time. Ticking, ticking..

Until the ticks fade

The hands stand still

And time itself,

Is frozen.

Don't be afraid of watches. For they are not annoying. They are a reminder. We never know, when our last second is. When our heart beat will give it's final tick.

Tick..

Tick...

Tick.