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Ticking Clock

Hard to fathom
Where time goes,
Washed away
In ebbs and flows;
From inception
Baby grows
Open hands
And walking toes.
Laid upon
His momma’s chest,
Nourished by
His momma’s breast.
His mom and pop
Will never rest;
The marriage strain,
The marriage test.
Baby’s walkin’
Soon he’s three,
Busy as
A bumble bee.
Challenged by
The things to see,
In school and play,
The child responds
To make his way.
Finds a place
Where he’s okay;
Fills with color
All that’s gray.
Becomes a friend
To parents who
At birth were all
The baby knew,
Who wonder when
Their baby grew
And wonder after
What they’ll do.

Drawn to worlds
Of disarray,
Leaves his home
To make his way.
Says, ‘Goodbye,’
He’d, ‘like to stay,’
But something calls
He goes away.
Rides the waves,
The clouds above,
As timeless tides
Push and shove.
Looks for passion,
Looks for love,
Tries them on
Like hand to glove.
In a role
His parents know,
A baby’s hands
In his will grow.
In a sterile
Room aglow
A baby born
To bride and beau.
Love and passion,
Hearts deny;
Hearts encumbered,
Hearts that die.
The boundless earth,
The boundless sky,
Beckon all
Who wonder why.
Hears the voices
Hears the cries,
Tempted by
Their alibis,
In pursuit,
The whats and whys;
He answers them,
Away he flies.
On the wind
He turns to see
The passing of
The parents he
Had come to know
As underpinning
All he’d be.
Another’s arms
He puts to test;
Ancient heart,
Eternal quest.
Beating hearts
In measures rest;
Alone he roosts
In empty nest.
Buried now
Beneath the ground;
All he’s lost
With all he’s found.
Fainter now
The earnest sound
That tempts the sheep
From where it’s bound.
Doors that open,
Doors that close,
Time that’s lost
The memory stows.
Ticking clocks,
The mortal foes;
Hard to fathom
Where time goes.
Published inPoetry

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