I believe, Sir, the matter of it all

Is fondly oppressed by the time.

You don't really think the busy we do rush is anything not to do with the day?


Ah you see, that is where I scoff! You are so wrong, my dear friend.

You see, we challenge the clock in the moment of wake to the dreamy of rest.

Every blink is a tick of the clock that we miss,

And heavens forbid we steal a dry eye fresh.

In rest we still time till we sound our alarm wake,

Only to repeat again...







Oh the time? You ask me in heavy breath as you chase down a hand

Never to be caught because, you see, the clock.

The clock is what we so choose to revolve.

It revolves everything!

Every action of a thought is a thought on time.


Never enough.

Never enough.

Why do we hold three hands?


So you see, my dear friend,

Why I sullen a linger when rush ticks my day?

I resist to follow a heavy dash that welcomes me with a time to stay.

Don't look at me as mad when mad is just a tick of a tock,

While you're ticking the time when I'm done,

And you walk so you get to your next hand in time.


You don't see the problem with time?

You don't see the problem with time?


I need not time, nor time needs me,

And that is all I seek.

I believe, Sir, you've stayed an hour past your clock.

Now how do you choose to revolve?



Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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