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As The Clock Drips

by J. P. Davies

My life is a bottle, of distilled, triple filtered water, with a pin hole in the lid. Flipped at birth, it now drips on and on... Drops collect dirt as they fall. Some land muddy, others are still quite clean. None are pure again. They speed downwards, striking an element, which is every sundown, and burst quickly into vapour. I can never reclaim them. These drops that are the passing moments of a life constantly passing. Maybe tomorrow... My bottle is dry and all the drops that have fallen have been carried away. So watch every drop while it falls and make sure that it's not the last. Another drop will fall. but do not disregard the mid-fall orb. This drop is unique. This and every drop sum total the vapour that is my past. A slowly, growing, thick fog of time and memory. If your drop should collide with mine, will it dilute my drop with its purity, or blacken it with its shame? Now, if my purest, and yours should meet: their fall to the heat, slowly, and softly. The most dazzling jewel either of us has ever seen.

11/25/2003

Posted on 11/25/2003
Copyright © 2022 J. P. Davies

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Barbara Griffith on 11/25/03 at 03:45 PM

I really enjoyed the poem, but it was a bit hard to read with the background and the colour.

Posted by Agnes Eva on 11/25/03 at 05:08 PM

beautiful poem, beautiful image, i like the whole metaphor especially the love jewel at the end

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/25/03 at 07:06 PM

Colourful, evocative combo young sir!

Posted by Leslie Ann Eisenberg on 11/30/03 at 07:10 AM

do not disregard the mid-fall orb. ....lovely, and the last stanza is a killer. well done

Posted by Leslie Ann Eisenberg on 11/30/03 at 07:11 AM

btw, your poem title caught my eye, because i saw the new loony tunes movie today, and there's a scene where the go into the dali painting, and they drip too. very trippy.

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