Clocks Poem by Wanda Swim Strunk

All the clocks in my life are set to different times
I am unsure if that is an excuse or an explanation
Unable to handle the hands of time

Now that I watch the watch
My former wrists of youth that wore the hours and minutes
like shackles

Cursing the world to hurry up and keep pace
Youth is Illusion of smoke and mirrors
Pretty wrapping around an empty box

The best chapter of a good book
Is when only a few pages are left
Leaving the desire for a sequel