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The Hour Hand
by Jared OrlandoShe held the large clock up to her throat
Felt the ticking deep into her trachea
As her lashes reacted to the pulses
With eyes closed, no way to tell
How much time was going by
Each tick giving way to more ticking
The wood around the face, splintering
Entering her finger tips as she winces
Losing balance, regaining, upright again
Ticks momentarily distant become closer again
She falls asleep
Her last vision was of time falling
Skipping, revolving, then shattering
One panicked breath escapes dryly
As her body crumbles around the hour hand 03/17/2013 Posted on 03/17/2013
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 03/18/13 at 06:40 AM Intense.Reminds me metaphorically of experiencing the death of my mother.The difference being no "panicked" breath (thanks to Hospice and the morphine). Yes,indeed-you sure connected...on this
*stellar* write. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/19/13 at 01:26 PM Not only intense, but somehow very compressed. I really liked that wood around the face, splintering. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 03/20/13 at 07:21 PM Nearly like something out of a Dali painting. Nice!! |
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