clocks
Learn more about other poetry terms
The clock ticks down the day,
How much longer I have to wait,
For the revolving door to make its final spin.
Around it goes in a shadowy blur,
Its magnificent speed is hard to ignore.
We are all ruled by time
Our life ticks away
Seconds, minutes, hours at a time
We all begin wound
Our cogs meshing and turning
Just simple time pieces
Ticking away
Freat clocks and wrist watches
We are all ruled by time
Our life ticks away
Seconds, minutes, hours at a time
We all begin wound
Our cogs meshing and turning
Just simple time pieces
Ticking away
Freat clocks and wrist watches
Clock strikes twelve
Gorgeous prince dwells
Fair maiden is locked in cell
Lovers meet and step-mom lets out a yell
Someone rings the bells
I hear the ticking of a clock as time passes
The weight of the clock rests on my heart
Its ticks sending vibrations to my very core
The ticks never ending, never faltering
The silence surrounds,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
I hear the delicate hands move,
Much like my own,
They drift in movement,
My breathing grows light,
I listen for silence,
A floorboard creaks,
Follow the flow of the wind.
Long days and clocks never say goodbye,
Going in circles watching your whole world spin.
- Silence pours over my ear drums
Talk to me? no - not tonight -
for I am in a curious state of being.
I'm feeling my blood rush through me
It's swirling and dancing in my viens
he hands of Time seem at rest,
but with a simple, steady beat they move
toward an eternity unknown
to the world.
Tick
Tock
Two hands
On a clock
Six to twelve
At two o’clock
Five chimes ring,
Schoolhouse rock
Ticking red hand,
Metered like Bach;
Cursive Roman numbers
Who am I? That's a loaded question.
We are all dense individuals, filled like an overflowing dam with ideas, experiences and contexts.
Within this uncompromising maze,
the faceless men in white suits
force you to stumble along
the path from point A to B.
Tall white walls confiscate creativity
and slowly strangle the unsuspecting
As the seconds tick by
the wheels begin to lurch.
Time is but a lie
but we follow it like clockwork.
The pendulum begins to climb
the setting sun is but a ruse.
Mr. Clock, why are you so mean?
Every time I'm havin fun time flees,
Yet every time I am unhappy you won't leave.
Mr. Clock, your hands are evil,
They control me in every way.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Ruined concentrating silence.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tiny noises sound like giants.
Round. Round. Round.
Going up instead of down.
Round. Round. Round.
I am an optimistic soul
I wonder about my past
I hear the time keepers hands
I see my future
I want to start over
I am a prisoner of time
relentless twitching, pulsing
in cookie-cutter intervals
uniform frequency, identical duration
Big hand is Minutes and Short hand is Hours
Both take my time and waste it as I try,
Try as hard as I can to read a clock, It's easy.
Counting by fives, It's one of the rare things I can
Here I sit upon your wrist
My digital face blinking figures
Counting up the
Seconds
Minutes
Hours
Days
Only to come around and start again.
I come complete with
The clockwork of the year is rusty after a summer spent in blissful timlessness.
Everywhere the cogs of the machine resist sudden jostling and bemoan the meer mention of clinking back into place.
Life is a clock,
And we are the gears,
Because clocks do not scare us.
We know that after seven o’clock comes eight,
