Tick tock, the sound of the clock
Heart thumping the passage of time
Can’t hold it back the motion right
Time; sense and fun, a perfect rhyme
My thoughts drift and I wonder yonder
Of Old hags cooking with legs asunder
Roasting corn for the tots to grind
A bundle of joy I will never find
Just my mythical haloed innocence
Interred deep by my insolence
Hides the ashened residue of my soul
Incarcerated never to burn
Head in my knees days gone by keep me by
Microsecond for what it is, never to fly
Broken dreams mine to keep
Two more weeks then I can sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem