The Clock


There’s a heart that beats


and a clock that chimes


Moments pass


as they both keep time






lost again


Words don’t flow


from an idle pen




Deeds don’t come


from an idle hand


Seeds won’t grow


in a barren land




Something stalks me


Something’s there


Something haunts


my every prayer






Life slips by




Sleepless nights




Cold against


the words I say


Time won’t make


this go away




It merely ticks


to count the deeds


Mounting numbers


don’t mislead




They all add up


to tell the tale


of downward slide


towards the hell




That I’ve created


Idle hands


Not but dust


on barren land




Depicts the seeds


that I have sown


And with this pen


I’m left alone




In idle silence


Years go by...


As the heart beats on


and the clock keeps time.