Poetry / The High Wall Clock

Tick, tock of the high wall clock,
As Time crawls by with a grin on its face.
Musky scents mark your place
In this dilapidated prison cell.

Your heart is filled with tedious yearning
And your mind by monotony,
As the clock sings its rhythmic pace
To its ensnared prison mates.

Silence settles like a new winter’s snow,
Cold and frigid but not unwelcome.
An easy escape from today’s duties
Perhaps today will be the last?

How does she feel, forever trapped,
With no way out except one?
Does she greet it with a warm smile,
Or resent it with her glare?

Is she even aware,
Of what Time’s cruel curse has done?
Or she is simply waiting, like you are,
For the hour hand to spin once again.

Soon, you know that soon,
Time will grant your leave.
Soon, you hope to be free again,
Free from your duties and ties.

The high wall clock chimes its song
With a resounding clang.
Free at last! your heart and mind soars
Your hand waiting, outstretched for the door.

A shuffle at your back then a gentle tap,
Built on frail shoulders is that sickeningly pale face.
Eyes glazed over, as if in deep thought,
Her lips hang open till they stop and purse shut.

Moments pass as the high wall clock tocks,
With no words to share you take that step back.
She’s silent and still. Waiting again?
Till she beckons you away with a flick of her hand.

You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.