Towards

The bells. The clicks. The whirs and ticks.
Constant. Incessantly counting and hastening doubts.
No grinding of those gears that move and mark
The breaking wheels of wonders forgotten or lost.
Freely the waters flow in an approaching wall
Where there is no holding such tide unceasing.
Thinning are the heralds reflected smiles
That pull upon each day with greater force.
The needle trapped in the disk’s grooves wobbles
And races with greater speed as it moves to center
In ever shrinking circles until the music’s sudden end.
Reminders arrive and greet with urgent frequency.
Some simply tap the shoulder and cause one to pause.
Others slap with force and such fury to break life’s illusion.

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