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Broke..

Broken.

Smithereens sprawl

upward past

spaces unspoken.

A brokered unpeace

maims my burst and splintered tock.

Tiny pieces of;   o.  ‘    c.   l.      o.       c.   k.

When the watcher placed his watch on me.

Then my problems faced forgotten me.

A timepiece smashed

it’s own arms and hands.

A lapsed hammer lashed

down on minute demands.

Ticks of approval taste silence

for their first and final time.

As moss grows on death’s violin.

Her bow embossed with lime.

Hours & minutes all flash bygone, gone, bye.

Tiny pieces of; o’clock, now: lost in time.

Dissolved erasure’s metro-moans aside:

fade into chagrin’s yon endless sighing syne.

© poormansdreams

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