August 25, 2013

Borrowed Time

Speak to me
The clock chimes one
Speak to me
The clock chimes two
Speak to me
The clock chimes three

Sounds of gnashing is heard, metal upon metal, the ancient clock groans; age heightens the ache in old bones; saying it’s time to go.

Down to the street
An intersection
Where all hearts meet

A place where goodbyes are stuck to anger, a reverie of lost hellos tear at the heart; where feet stray, where strangers go, found in humble beginnings; then hands slip aside, allowing darkness to wear the cloak, shuddering, drawing it close. 

Early morning, the clock strikes one
On window’s ledge, she stands
Soon, the clock strikes two

Closing eyes to sleep, she hears the tick of the clock’s reverberating beat.  This time, this time, is it mine; to go, to go from here to nowhere, from here to nowhere on three?

The moon rises over the lake
Her soul
Her soul to take

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