Ticking Clock
The ticking clock
Knows not the seasons
Nor holidays
Does not know the difference
Between January and July
Its ticking hands do not know
Cannot follow
A backward path
Can only strum away
The hours and the days
Into months and years
Minute by sixty second minute
The ticking clock
In its everlasting onwardness
Never hears the silence
Nor overhead thunder
Never understands the desire
To stop and seize the moment
Does not pause to remember
Where it’s been
What it’s seen
What it means
Just leaves it all behind
Like dust kicked up
Behind a rusty pickup truck
On a rutted country road
Never minding where it settles
What it may obscure
Leaving a film of grey white
Across the memories of once ago
That relentless ticking clock
Just moves forward
Taking you and I with it
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