You sculpt the clay of my life
With your rigid hands,
Shouting your high commands through morning alarms.
As you collect your daily payment of attention.
When I find myself savoring life's sweetness,
You sprint behind my back.
And when pain drops my heart from my chest,
You linger, rubbernecking from the wall.
You enclose the whole of my life
In that circular frame,
Ever spinning in your infinite math,
Drunk with power!
I can take no more of your tyranny!
I can afford no more of your triple-A battery lunches-
I am afraid you've run out of time.
So keep your hands out of my business, I'm sleeping in today.
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This Poems Story
I have always been taunted by the clock . whether it was chasing me to class or ticking away my detention sentence. The clock has always been the figurehead reminding me how far I'd fallen behind in the human race. Throughout the years, I've made my peace with the clock, finally drifting with the ebbs and flows as it molded to the curvature of my life. This poem aims to uncover that relationship in a small way and remind us that it is better to spend some time living in the slow lane than to die in the fast lane.