The Heart Of A Machine

It keeps me up at night, the gentle rhythmic reminder.

Silence only worsens the sound.

If I try to run from it, it gets closer.

Black, white, silver and gold, it’s steady rhythm almost haunts me.

Clear, sharp, precise, its sound pierces my soul.

Once, I heard it change; once, I heard it stop.

Was it my choice to follow its rhythm?


I’ve heard it chime; I’ve heard it tick, I hear it now.

It is the only thing that keeps us together;

It is the only thing that drives us apart.

Tick. Tock. Is its external sound.

Thump. Thump. Is its eternal resound.


It never stops.


This poem is about: 
My country


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