Time


The clock sits perched on my wrist-
bound by its leather strap and taps its tiny foot,
wondering when I'll lay down my weary arms
and let its two-toned face fall
among the down pillows nestled in my sheets.
The clock drones on and on with a quiet, sleeping rhythm
and nudges at my ears with its tick-tock song-
a pesky voice that craves a white flag to raise.
Time is tired.
Like my wristwatch I linger on into the night,
looking for a reason to admit defeat
and collapse within the comforts of my cold blankets
who wait for me and greet me with my own lonely embrace.
But I fail to find such a cause for an end to this night.
And so just as Time does,
I remain vigil.

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