Clock

By: Nick Serrano

Your hands dance around through each revelation,
Healing the old wounds of the tormented past.
Each tick is another second gone from life,
Each rotation is another cycle closer to the end.
You make me wait for each passing second so it would be all over,
In yet you make things go so fast when we forget who we are.
When we lose ourselves and break down into an oblivious rage,
Time picks up back with both hands and a ticking eye.
Tick Tick Tick you keep going on, waiting for my time,
You know when my number is up by chocking hands,
That tug the puppet's strings.