although most clocks are digital
they still have hands it seems
to wrest us from sweet morpheus
and shake us from our dreams
for man has not invented time
just carved it to his whim
so he'd consume in little bites
that would appeal to him
but there is never freedom
when the stern face of the clock
is counting down the seconds
till the instant it can stalk
if i become a rich man
there is something that i know
i'd clutch that evil grinning clock
and out the window throw
imagine the mad glory
knowing not the day of week
just living by the seasons
in a universe unique
i'd rise when i felt rested
and when nodding i would sleep
unbound by chains of slavery
with peacefulness so deep
alas that's not my present
its a gift the future holds
for even now the clock is cross
and with a finger scolds
but mind you heartless timepiece
i will have the final laugh
for i will have no use for you
in lifetime's second half
| 
Email this Poetry
| 
Add to reading list
