Friday, July 10, 2009

Times of the Sun

The clock’s delicate melody
Seems to be at odds with the
Heavy hammering of my heart
How can something so mechanical
Aim to control our lives so entirely?
But I suppose it is us who give it power.
It is our pure mortal aim for control
For restrictions, for organization,
That gives it purpose.
If I had the choice
If my life wasn’t in it’s death grip already
I would toss that ticking damnation
Out of the window. Good riddance.
And plunge myself into the world
When life’s only timer was the
Rising and setting of the Great Sun.

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