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Counting down the clock

by Greg Williams

Somebody wishes under golden locks of hair,
underneath the skin, in a mind seeking fair.
Libra scales balance weights of sin,
like somehow kindness trapped within.
Somebody wonders, "gee I wonder" like it really matters,
underneath a cruelty as people gather.
Tricking somebody's mind as if somebody cares,
1,2,3 o' clock,
all you've brought is stares,
where within reality climbing up the stairs.
Will somebody grasp true meaning,
as if to somehow fake a beginning,
somebody wonders, " Am I winning?"
but somebody is stuck to store those thoughts,
brought on cold, bitter and sad,
Thoughts that somewhere, somebody had.
Bare all truth, society means,
Counting counter clockwise in between the seams,
somebody wrote this when?
jump back to eleven,
like it really makes a change,
numbers though refined are numbers rearranged.
Somebody needs to go on,
like somebody cares,
remembering sick cold sweat
like when everybody stares.


Author's Note: An older poem that I wrote.

Posted on 06/02/2009
Copyright © 2024 Greg Williams

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kris Mara on 06/04/09 at 12:28 PM

the use of the numbers throughout the piece works really well to convey that feeling of the anxiety in counting down the clock...

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