Clacks of the clock

June 18, 2012 § Leave a comment

Clock ticking

weather’s dry

my hands are too;

I grow impatient

I acknowledge you.


The hiker’s fall

the linen’s burnt

you are so loud

but you make no sound.


Foreign chords mists

I’d pretend to seek

As clock ticks

my head spins.


Soul is cleanse

mind is clear

rain’s below

but something’s wrong.


Piece of paper

disguise as flake of snow

makes us wonder

as if we’re one.


I was deciphered

and unraveled

you are clear now

to knock in the door.


Clocks still ticks

pointers rest at thee

I lend you my hand

on thy way up to where you want to be.

( xx/xx/2010) – Key



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