A Clock Poem by Holly Jamestone

A clock is ticking twenty-four seven
And what takes place between the strikes is truly relative

To a person on their death bed the pauses may be fleeting
And to those waiting for good news an eternity transpires

I want to hear the seconds between the minutes
And to devour the preciousness of life
One inimitable morsel at a time

A clock is ticking and the cycle of life
Embraces time exactly the same with every passing moment

There are no distinctions between illness or folly
Or famine Or gluttony Or ecstasy Or bereavement

I want to hear the seconds between the minutes
And to devour the preciousness of life
One inimitable morsel at a time

I want to hear the seconds between the minutes
And to devour the preciousness of life
One inimitable morsel at a time
Until the final chime tolls and the sun cries unrelentingly
As there are no more hushed whispers, the world ends
And the clouds pull the final curtain