Watching the Clock

Happiness flying so high I cannot reach, If only I could find them that would teach.  Sitting so dim living through others, wondering why them and not the other. Lights down low, time so slow, watching the clock one day and then two. The days march by with many a glitch, wondering why I still live in this son of a bitch.

 By Rob Casteel  

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An illlusion. A rumor

of an emotion that does

not exist long. It comes

fleetingly. It leaves



An allusion to the harlequin's

smile, those diamond patterns

intended to bring smiles

bring tears.


An obsession for the sad

heart's ranting. Who has laughter,

who joy? Not beyond reach,

beyond compare and access.


A confession for losts and alones

who travel searching instead of feeling.

Inside the wall of the heart is a cell

filled to breaking with mote sized

blissfulness so small no one can see.


An affectation as affliction in situation

or contrition. A way to avoid explanations

or conotations, the full spectrum of

expression. Every coin has two sides,

but it would not be a coin if there were no

density between.