That Merciless Clock
Those hands never cease.
They batter body and mind
And seem to increase
Leaving wreckage behind.
They accelerate in every way,
Exacting ever more painful pay
For abuses of a younger day.
Constantly those arms flail greedily,
Consuming a little more of me.
Their march to the right seems wrong
Since it only hastens my end along.
That expressionless ever changing face
Moves with an increasing pace
Leaving me less and less space
Until my time encounters an eternal lock
Orchestrated by that merciless clock.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Added by Poetry Lover
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