How minutes come so violently,
Revert this rising moon.
I wonder why so many die,
When time shall heal all wounds.

It hurts to hear the ticking,
And never hear the tock.
Never gain, forever losing
Time unto this ticking clock.

Now my wound's expressed in silly words,
But the clock can only wave.
It seems he's laughing, through his eyepiece-
Stealing sunny days.

So I stop the pendulum from swinging,
Freeze his hands within mid-flight.
Controlling time, my surreal mind,
Though day still forms to night.

I watch the beast resemble me,
I'm followed by my grave.
But in this state, I'm frozen,
Still the same young age.

I'm still a breath behind myself,
And a thousand thoughts ahead.
At this rate, my day ends years from now,
I'll never get to bed.

I stop my eyes from staring,
No more ticking to deceive.
I wave in ignorance, triumphant,
Defying destiny.

Who could cast me from this moment?
Who could ignorance not bless?
I'm in a daze of such perfection,
A shining beacon of distress.

I've a bandage for the healing,
But no one to apply.
So I gaze into dimensions
Where time won't pass me by.

Halting precious thoughts for pictures,
Stare between the frames.
Holding time for painless moments,
Uncultured wounds remain.

I cause myself infection,
Though the clock is strict to plans.
I'm handicapped, I'm hurting,
Please lend a minute hand.

I ask for words of healing,
When you scream but twelve of noon.
Doctor clock, you promise nothing,
Intensify my wounds.

Stephen Gardner 2004
 
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