Sitting here waiting while the clock face chases forward my memories bewildered and twisted, with unborn thoughts… Seeing things I’ve waited for all these years just go by as tear drops now, like a paper book each page is turned, as my life is spanning out –
Walking through the concrete jungle within this metropolis of home there is a foreboding question lingering before my eyes Is there a life within life that is living? Or is all this just a common metaphor?
Now I’m standing on the platform of the golden alter of sunrise where people wonder if man is a god or a king? Eyes closed but seeing all. Their tempers are flamed with the union that has been found. Sitting here waiting while the clock face chases backwards. I’m afraid!
Afraid of what I might find when I open them again.
Drowned in unclogged arteries: thoughts. I am going to release a swarm of bees. It was your dark hour. A father sits outside your body to collect the stings. A restive finger on a blue gun invites the ghosts to
There once Lived a man named Mr McDocks, he loved one thing and THAT thing was clocks. He fixed them and sold them; he had his own shop, he treasured them always; it JUST wouldn’t stop. He had watches, grandfathers
Her heart was like a clock that I wanted to stop and rewind the dial back. Remembering the beginning. Following the curve of ticks as everything around disappeared. The ticks and tonks that throb as pulse. The blossom of smiles
Chasing dreams in the night Powerful thoughts with lots of fight Dreams of space and time Imagination wanders as I unwind Fairies and unicorns in my world Things I always dreamed of as a young girl Dreams keep you going