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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Personal >> ID #798864 |
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The black hands of the clock
Move endlessly Unerringly Impassive in their journey; Around, and around again— Don’t you see? Trapped behind glass Stuck in a circle Still moving as the world goes by; The sun sets and rises. Time passes— Lights burn out and Lives sputter to an end In much the same manner; Caskets carried solemnly through Rows of stained glass Celtic knotwork, much like life: I see the beginning, but— Where is the end? Does it ever end? What will it be? Will anyone even care? Twists and turns and tangles Yet the clock ticks still. Time will go on— Endlessly Impassively Unerringly And we are powerless— Trapped behind glass
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