The Timepiece

 

I wake in the morning at three twenty-three,

The clock by my bedside starts glaring at me,

It whispered good morning and go back to sleep,

The hours of the darkness to count up and keep.

 

I think of the clocks that have noted my age,

The hours and the minutes, the pleasures, the rage,

The fear and foreboding, the terror and pain,

Their sonorous ticking an endless refrain.

 

The clock at the dentist with hands moving fast,

Then moving too slow when my turn comes at last,

The clock in the nightclub that says ten to two,

The girl who said nothing but knew what she knew.

 

The very first watch that I wore when a child,

When summers were endless and ruthless and wild,

With seconds no matter, an hour nature’s prize,

And “where’ve you been darling” a reason for lies.

 

Clock in at the office not later than nine,

You work for your bread but you’re wanting the wine,

You wait for five-thirty and run for the train,

The clock in the station, you’ve missed it again.

 

Malevolent clocks with their hands sharp as shears,

They cut through your consciousness, shorten your years,

Then plunder your rest with their insistent chimes,

The cause for distress in your rhythms and rhymes.

 

I have stood beneath clocks as the days turned about,

As governments fell and the world felt the rout,

The stock exchange tumbled and mighty banks fell,

With the sound of their ticking the gateway to hell.

 

They are marking my passage each day and each night,

They know when I’m wrong, never sure when I’m right,

Not certain tomorrow will better today,

Full sure that my colours will fade into grey.

 

The ticking of clocks tolls is a desolate knell,

They sound out the ages and sound them so well,

Like a metronome marking the rhythm and pace,

With time the perfection, mankind the disgrace.

 

Sunrise in the morning, sunsets at the close,

Enough of a timescale for rabbit and rose,

But man’s need to capture and quantify time, 

Is subtle or stupid, suspect or sublime.

 

I look to the digital clock by my bed,

It blinks at me coldly in rapturous red,

I sleepless surrender to mounting despair,

Full knowing tomorrow the clocks will be there.