Descending Time Poem by jane heart
Descending Time
incredibly I watched
the clock,
inaudible to all but reflections,
and grey in the half-light of stairs.
It stopped at three.
It stopped.
And all around a waste of afternoons
stung me.
Who turned the clock?
Too late,
for time to re-appear.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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5/1/2024 3:52:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
