Incessantly swinging the pendulum plays with us.
Left to right to left again. Repeating. Defeating.
Who winds that drum and separates these weights
Bound by his escapement our gear trains turning?
Chains to hold us parallel. Close but never to touch.
Suspended to dangle and hang. Passing again one up one down.
One rising one falling, calling, but never to never to land.
And then such force from unseen hand rips us away again.
Clock-ing
After 12 seconds, the clock slaps me
” Earthling, what’re you doin’?”
Me: “Oh, I’m killing you, immortal. And you?”
Clock: “Just, revolving 360 degrees since B.C.
Now what if, I kill you?”
(Took off the battery . . .)
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“There’s something comforting
About a clock with stopped hands.”
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Interesting.
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I feel a brutality in this one Wulf, but it may just be where my mind is this morning. This one hit me hard.
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Brutality? Hmm…That could be a good word. It is definitely not an uplifting piece, so it’s not just you.
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