Tick Tock

Tick Tock

 

Clock hands like scalpels dissecting the hours of the day
Separating one moment from another – no two quite the same
The inexorable motion ever forwards, ever onwards
Creating the past in neat segments as they begin to age

The ratio of speed between these hands remaining constant
The one more like a heartbeat’s steady throb
The other trudges with measured plodding steps
Together the record kept of each passing minute, hour and day

Tick tock, alliterative sound to punctuate the silence
Calmly marking off the day’s progression
Placid, undisturbed amidst the peace
Or maelstrom of our lived experience

Life not dependent on the movement of the clock
But both bound up in some mystical synchronization
And as the spring within our clock slowly unwinds
The body’s cogs and levers echo that inevitable slow decline

Ken Fisher

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