Clock Decides - A Poem
Sitting inside this room: cold.
Not eager to warm myself up.
To move is one question, I cannot answer.
To stay put is for another day.
Every second the clock ticks
My ears hear the drum of the
Second hand moving ever so slowly.
I'm staring at boxes: empty.
Just another day to pack.
My life fits into these shells,
I can quickly be moved around.
People stomping as they trail
Up and down. Doors
open and close.
Thinking to myself,
What is most valuable to me?
What don't I want put into a box?
What can make someone warm with only a second?
Published by Nichole Appleby
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