The Clock - An Original Poem
with its hand shaking
like an alcoholic's hand,
reaching for his morning drink,
knocking the glass to the floor,
which shatters to painful dust,
lingering reminders
destined for the foot.
who operates at night
plundering my sleep,
but I am vengeful,
swinging its cord
leaving only remorse
to clean later.
like a desperate colleague,
pointing out all my failures,
turning me into a ninja,
who was caught sneaking
by countless employers.
with every second
the anticipation builds,
the minute hand roaring
his overpowered engine,
then screaming one minute forward
in a race that's killing me.
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Nice poem, I enjoyed reading it :)
Thank You :)
Nasty clock... it's killing me too!
The Great Poem ! @gonzo
stop looking at the damn clock!
Creepy clock..set it in the basement! lol Best wishes, - @splendorhub
The clock keeps calling me names, coo coo, coo coo.