Clicking Clock Poem by Kathlyn Grace

It counts down the minutes
that the hour hand holds close
right next to its heart
so it can feel the pulse

It sees the way we sway
so free and yet so taunt
watching as we tumble
into a relentless waltz

Clicking past the hours
and holding us so dear
the clock hangs just overhead
and sees the way they cheer

It wispers to itself
'oh what a lovely sight'
and how the melody plays it back
its like a butcher knife

The ticking will not subside
into the late and dreary night
it would rather smirk at our demise

The ticking
and the tocking
the clicking
oh the clock is
watching as we glide
for our last chance
side by side