The Clock That Told StoriesA Poem by TyThe Clock That Told StoriesSitting Each eye on each hand of the old timer bronzed clock Philosophy My principals written along cracked fading drywall, Hall peeled dripping paint chips, And all of what used to be bold colors of Autumn, Old Earth's Fall's Bittersweet, Cinnamon, and Atomic Tangerine abstract identity, Now faded to black And I find myself displaced Fung Shui space would only time travel, teleporting me back And this. Yin, Yang, Being, Things, Knowing of metaphysics Metaphysical substance, halos, and auras; subconsciously questioned mind's nature Essentially characteristics I'd struggle to understand These moments in spur Sporadically blurred dusk's horizon in an unidentifiable medley of history and present Sun sent endeavors, a dark hour or broken clock Stirred emotions, Compassion in withered interaction. And yet. Sitting, I spent hours glaring at that bronzed clock, The face which spoke of stories and time Unrest and grime Certain it'd spare a hand In revelation, shared a story A narrative that seemed fictional A script to understanding a united north hemisphere land I'd change my focus Navigating wickedness, the vices, In hopes the mountain range would uncover and open sun temples and moments Surely decoded Egyptian hieroglyphics would decipher, Pinnacle of unimaginable Tactical militaristic unstable mind Vehement and vivid through current life and visuals The clock that told stories and time Drained mentally and physical And noon set a new, Repeat, and it'd tell me Just how much a hand of time costs. © 2017 TyFeatured Review
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