Time

Pushing through the air,

Like Saran Wrap, it clings

To my tongue.

Gripping the hands on the clock

With the edges of my mind.

Rolling my body out

Onto the edge of an abyss.

Looking down, my reflection

Is captured, and swallowed whole.

Swinging back and forth,

Sitting on a pendulum.

Counting the echoing ticks

Of the grandfather clock.

When will I be free

From slavery to time?

Advertisements

Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s