The Hands of Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

The tick, tick, tick of the outdoor clock interrupts my reverie to remind me of how time belies the dreams of youth, and betrays all hopes and yearnings.

THE HANDS OF TIME

By Al Garcia

I sit beneath a covered patio, watching the branches of an old mesquite tree swaying in the gentle breeze. 

Behind me on the patio’s wall, I hear the tick, tick, tick of an outdoor clock, reminding me how quickly time goes by. 

My mind retreats to bygone days when I was young, when I was my father’s son. 

The tick, tick, tick of the outdoor clock interrupts my reverie to remind me of how time belies the dreams of youth, and betrays all hopes and yearnings. 

My youth, my father, both now gone, casualties of time.  And here I sit watching the tree branches sway in the gentle breeze, listening to the sound of time as it continues to deceive. 

Too late to stop the hands of time, as I know that the tick, tick, tick of the outdoor clock will continue long after I am gone.


Submitted: June 15, 2021

© Copyright 2021 A.Garcia. All rights reserved.

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