Turning of a Golden Clock

 

Every passing moment

Every click of the clock

Is another hour spent

Wiping the faces of mock

 

And when all is said and done

I see myself in the mirror

And realize with a stun

That I’ve become something of horror

 

To see my world grind away

And see the hate turn to blood

I wish to see another…

 

A day where I don’t see the red flood

And a day where all I see are smiles

Of all those I love, on golden dials

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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