The Clock - Poem by Lora Colon
As night descends it brings foreboding,
And right on cue, here comes the fear;
What will I do when the clock strikes twelve -
When it's midnight, and he's not here
Night after night, the same scene unfolds,
Misery, why do you loiter near?
The starless ceiling of black and gray
Steadily falls, and he's not here
Not a thousand stars falling to Earth,
Nor the moon whispering in my ear
Could free me of the impending doom
Of the twelfth hour, if he's not here
What agony! will God hear my prayer,
Or into my heart thrust a spear?
The hour hand of the clock slowly crawls...
Nearing midnight.... but he's not here
But the fount of mercy doesn't flow,
My bitter cup, devoid of cheer;
As I draw the drapes, here comes the storm,
Midnight arrives, and he's not here
The clock's message echoes through the night,
Trying to provoke one more tear;
The steady ticking tells me that he's
Not here..... not here..... not here.....
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