Grandfather Clock

the incessant sound of my grandfather clock,

counting along though Grandfathers gone. . .

and I continue to sit in this same weary spot.

In this same ugly chair- round, plain, and bare-

I sit and I stare-

what was my thought?

I sit in my chair. . .

I sit and I stare

as the ticks and the tocks

steadily mock

the day away.

Mocking the time-

precious, useless time-

by the ticking's soft vibe

I still know I'm alive.

How many ticks has it been-

can't remember when-

since a visitor came?

Every day's all the same:

simple waiting game

for the next thoughtless tick,

the next pointless tock,

flicking hands tip to top

across rotting space

of a frowning face

on my grandfather clock.

Oh, I forget. . . can't remember yet:

When did my time become so unkind?

I sit and I stare

at the wear and the tear of my papery skin-

broken and thin-

twig bones in my hands-

I can't hardly stand-

legs no wider than sticks.

"I didn't mean. . .to get so sick. . ."

Tick, tock, tick, tock

wondering when my heart will stop.

It's been pumping along

before Grandfather's song-

bitter Time's symphony.

Failing ears hear the key,

but I stare at this screen.

Blue/white light is blinking

in the dark of evening. . .

Living is better than not.

How long ago-

I know that I know-

glimpses of snow-

how long has it been-

can't remember when-

was Grandfather shot?

Living is better than not.

Tick, tock, tick, tock

the incessant sound of my grandfather clock,

mocking the time with its infinite rhyme

while I sit in this chair-

round, plain, and bare-I

sit in this chair-

I'm stiff and I stare-

comb fly away hair-

I continue to sit

in this same weary spot.