Clock

poem by: John Prophet
Written on May 30, 2019 

The hands
spin.
Every day.
Day after
day they
spin.
Relentless.
Morning.
Noon.
Night.
Relentless.
Planet spins.
Relentlessly
it spins.
Time
spinning,
fritting it
all away.
Can’t be
stopped.
Can’t hold
the hands.
Impossible to
hold the hands,
stop the clock.
Impossible.
Monotonous,
relentless,
regularity.
Grabbing 
by the scruff,
dragging 
all along
for the ride.
Spinning faster,
the hands
spin faster.
Furiously 
spinning.
The ride will
not stop,
will not
stop
till the
end.
Then
it happens.
The hands
seize,
stop spinning.
Times up!

 

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