Chronometer

Poem about timing and the differences between moments

In my head I've got a clock.
It goes tick tock, tickety tock,

And I use it

To tell the time between each line

Or to figure

Out which moments are sublime,
Raising my eyes to meet heaven's sight,

Or passable

Like so many dead leaves in the wind.
Clinging to those seconds is like gripping sand,
Forming an hourglass with your hands,
Hoping something beautiful can come of it before it leaves.

But you knew from the start,
If you'd just listen to the siren's call in your heart,
That the moment held no grace.

No splashes from the ocean of beyond
Were destined to sprinkle on your face.

Though it would've been nice.

Wandering through the desert of reality
Does leave want for ice-

Water.
Peace.
Love.

Anything besides the harsh rays and burning sand.

Anything besides another condescending glance.

I crave the crisp feeling of wind,
The refreshing feeling of naive innocence.
But alas I'm marooned in a drought
With a dehydrated soul and no way out.

Are the others depleted and searching like I am?
Is their eased countenance feigned for the sake

Of keeping appearances?

I refuse to believe I'm the only soul haunted by this worldwide smog that's grown thick with depravity,
Hostility,
And lies.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Excellent imagery in this tale of quest and frustration. The speaker compares and files moments as to quality and grows grim at the lack of peaks. This is either a spiritual search or a longing for the ideal love. Good luck.