Wrist-watch on your arm
Time on your hands
Watching the clock tick
Trying to understand -
Day after day
The hands just go round and round
Spinning in circles, where
Nothing's lost... nothing's found -
Going here
Going there
It's all the same
Everywhere -
Until winding down
We come to find
Our swirling lives
Have run out of time -
Then, the madness
Will stop;
Time to get off
This crazy, spinning clock -
(and fly away, from this crazy, spinning rock...)
It's a marvelous poem, Smoky! Here's to you, my friend (raises toast..Perrier water? lol)
Sometimes I think I would like to get away from the madness and get off the crazy spinning clock - excellent piece of poetry Smoky.
Hey- If I was you Smoky- I'd change that last word to Rock! Cause it rocks! your poem ;) But I understand if you don't, because you've got that whole clock-watch metaphor thingy going full throttle- the spring is wound! (smile)
in our mad race against time we fail to redeem the time! very good!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This world, this life offer so much potential, and deliver so little, either by design or our own failings, individually and collectively. If we could only get out of each other's way long enough to find our own. Not here, I fear. Not here.