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By Jeremy K
The hands of the clock
Pick us up
And put us down
They carry us in an infinite circular pattern,
Reducing the most beautiful moment into a number,
The most beautiful life into a pattern.
The clock is our mother and our murderer,
Our father and our torturer.
The clock is the bond
That unites a young couple in love
And the force
That causes them to hate each other
As they grow old. The clock is the guide
That leads a traveler down the road
And the forest
That causes them to become hopelessly lost.
The clock is the beginning, the middle, the end
The black the white the grey
So let us all acknowledge the clock Which controls our life through it’s mighty hands