Tick Tock

Bloody ticking clocks

keep telling me it’s time.

It’s time to change, time to alter, time to move.

Seconds, minutes, hours;

how long does it take?

Bloody time, it just keeps going,

won’t be stopped, never slowing.

But sometimes I think it’s telling me that whatever I chose to do:

I’m always too bloody late.

This entry was posted in Poetry
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