Tick. Tick. Tick.
"Where is the damn tock?"
The balance of my world is thrown, without the slight anti-tick groan,
Of a clock.
Every second seems to only repeat itself as the last.
The Hand may even be moving from second forty-four, to second forty-thress.
As I feel some High Tech Being, laughing at me,
My anger rises fast.
"Where is the damn tock?"
The balance of my world is thrown, without the slight anti-tick groan,
Of a clock.
Every second seems to only repeat itself as the last.
The Hand may even be moving from second forty-four, to second forty-thress.
As I feel some High Tech Being, laughing at me,
My anger rises fast.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
"Where is the dam doc?"
The sanity of my world is torn, watching the Emergency door,
Which I stock.
Every image blurs in my eyes but of that knob.
Nothing else may even exist except my plastic chair and cup of coffee.
As I feel some of my hope helplessly disappearing,
My heart aches in throbs.
Tick. Tick. Tic--
"Doc!"
"Doc!"
The relief comes rushing in, with his reassuring grin.
As he walks.
Every waiting moment is soon forgotten, but of his good news.
The Hand moves freely from second fifty-six, to second fifty-seven.
As I feel some Graceful Blessed Being, smiling upon me from Heaven,
I forgive the damn clock.
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