Clock
The second hand ticks
the music so loud
The minute hand tries. . .
oh, it tries
The hour hand asleep
Gear grooves grind with grit
Wires cross – an electric rainbow delight
A calm cuckoo can’t control -
“wake up” – it cries
Chipped numbers -
lines await their turn
A platform to preach
Little doors to breach
the whole world is out there. . .
it’s waiting. . .
for you.
See this and my other daily poems at:
http://1poem5minutes1day.wordpress.com/
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I write because it's how I speak to the world.
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