The Hands on the Clock

Not sure what would be the best category for this poem. But here it is! My first post! Hope you like it. :)

The hands on the clock, seldom endorsed by time, fall short of their purpose, and fail to rewind. So I find myself constantly going in circles, alone. I’m not accompanied by the hands on the clock, but instead, soar through time, aimlessly, searching for an end. Things are not as they seem and circumstances need careful review. Watch what you’re watching.

Reviews

[Cathy Wattam]

I do like this. Time is a mysterious concept. And things are seldom as they seem. Thanks for the thought-provoking poem. Hope to see more of your work :)