The Clock.

Time ticks second after second.
I wait.
sitting here with my heart on my sleeve.
Waiting for a man so broken he's forgotten how to love.
I try my best to pick up the pieces.
To sew them into place.
Yet how can I make his dead heart come to life?
It flutters, making my hopes rise and fall.
My emotions spread onto a map.
The blue prints never match.
Will I ever be enough to start this heart back up? How many pieces am I missing??
My heart shouts for his to awaken.
From times of hope to times where all is to hopeless.
I need to feel his warmth.
Yet for now all I can need is this clock to announce I made it to the Twelve!
I'll sew this man together. I'll awaken this heart, and listen to the song of the clock announcing I finally struck the twelve.

Reviews

[Bhumika Devkota]

Awesome job and great metaphor

[Lydia Shutter]

Good metaphor used throughout this poem. Unfortunately sometimes you can not open up another's heart...or change the way he reacts to any given situation. When the clock strikes twelve, he will be the one making decisions and all the prodding you have done might mean nothing. You have to be ready for that. A bittersweet write. Lydi**