The Beating Drum

Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.

The pounding sound, of the clock, on the wall.
Ticking like the beating of a drum.
Here I am, all alone, in such a dark cold place.
No one hears, no one cares what I do.

It’s a lonely world,
filled with hate,
filled with greed,
filled with nothing but the darkness of our hearts.

Who am I?
Who are you?
What’s the point,
to the things, that we do?

Not now, go away, don’t interrupt.
I’ll talk to you later…
These are the answers, I always receive.
Okay I understand.
But I don’t understand.

Which fiercely, brings us to now.
The shakes of a mad man,
And the mind of a crook.
The intricate knots that I cook.

It fits like a glove, old chap.
And I laugh, at the awfulness, of it all.
This is it.
Just a kick, and it’s done.

Got a question? Please do ask,
Because soon, I’ll know all that you seek.
Oh but you’ll be here. I’ll be there.
So I may, have a problem,
With my speech.