And You Decide What Time Is It Poem by RIC BASTASA

The usual things are gone.
What used to be mere chair
Comes to you as the fire blowing monster.
The good changes and you think you cannot bear all these
Unexpected. You thought you die just like the rest.
You knew some perished. The ropes come like jubilant players
of the killing games.
You are amazed. The changes after all are harmless
The demons are all in the mind
And if you really live with the peace of your fingernails
They are but flowers in the meadows
Drenched with rain, gleaming with dew,
Coated with sunshine like plated selves
With gold.

Keep those hands under your command
Do not let them betray you
You are still the master of this clockwork
And you decide
What time is it.