the first poem I ever wrote "The Clock"

Tis was a hideous New England day in late march- the clouds were raining wet grey, petals were on the brink of blossom and I was being driven crazy by the tick and the tock that rang from my clock.

I've always loved writing, I've known that it was what I was meant to spend the rest of my life doing since I was 8 years old, but for some reason... I just never could write poetry. That is, until I read "Come In" by Robert Frost and could not escape the tormenting echoes those words thrust upon the walls of my mind. Angst charged at my lungs, uncertainty pumped in my veins and my inescapable fear of time needed to find a means of release....

and so birthed the start of what I am now most passionate about- poetry and it came in the form of...

The Clock

 

The soles of my shoes

Have faded away

From pacing this pavement

Day after day.

The cracks in the road

Are beginning to grow

Like raging tides

Subject to what Neptune decides.

The tick of my watch

Beats with my pulse

As my eyes watch it,

Fearful and lost.

I hear the tick ring

The tock measures a second

It pounds in my ears,

The day comes to an end,

And it echoes the beat

Deep in my head.

I regret with no doubt

The time I spend wasted about

Feeling indifferent,

Strained,

From this growing pain

That is subject to the clock.

 

I’m afraid

Of the sound of the rain

As it drips on my window

And falls drop by drop

Like the watch on my wrist

Calling tick- tock.

There are mornings when I wake

Wanting to make

The day as beautiful as the changing

Color of trees

As they blow in the breeze,

Humming so sweetly,

Despite their falling leafs.

But as my feet crush

These fallen flowers,

I listen to the crunch

And see them turning to dust.

All around,

Their colors once beautiful

Are turning to brown.

Then the boat of my clock

Ticks from its dock

And the sails howl with the wind crying- tock tock.

 

I see a rose

Whose beauty is enclosed

In petals to blossom.

As the day strolls

It begins to unfold

To the suns shining rays

As they reign and parade

All spaces around

From mountain to cave

From sea- side to town.

But as the night comes

It withers away,

Its petals undone,

Right when life had begun.

And I turn and I run

Trying to find silence.

I rock back and forth

To the tick and the tock

That scream from my clock.

When I think all is not lost

The ticking gets louder

And the tocking

Will not stop.

Like a brute of a man

Buried by the hands of his own flaws

As he tragically falls

And is caved by the walls

Of his watch

As it ticks

And it tocks.

Until his heart stops. 

Reviews

[Mauricio Montoya]

Wow! This piece is deep and insightful what I get from this is not to be happy in the moment we live but to be happy that we have lived. because every thing in life is time.
Excellent write.

[Deviant Works]

Time. The dreaded clock. It seems all I hear is a constant tick and tock. A great poem which holds hints of my own fears. If I haven't read any of your other works I would be amazed by this being your first poem. But I have read your writing and your talent flows right off the page and smacks me right between the eyes. It is now obvious that not even your youth could deter you from being a great writer.

[Jonathan]

I am shocked this is great for your first
Poem. I enjoyed the end eventhough I
Sometimes feel that way. This poem and
The picture remind me of Salvador Dali.
Overall very well written the style of it is
Short and simplistic yet it seems as though
It could not be made any other way because
It would surely ruin it.

[SpokenWord]

bravo very good poetry here. I don't wear a watch so I don't hear the tick or the tocks much. I think of time as being made up by man to track events and I try not to live my life by a watch, it is more freeing that way. I loved each verse this is smooth as can be.