,, In all disorder, a secret order. — Carl Jung

The Clocks ,,

In honor of my boy’s birthday today, I’m going to share the poem of mine I think Mr. Edgar Allan would be proudest of. The theme mirrors his own obsession with time & mortality. As well, I hear the rhyme scheme as Poe-esque. // I hope you enjoy.

(Even if you’re not turning 210 today.)

[The Clocks]

the clocks,, , they tick, they
change their time,, ,  a

leap ahead or slow decline
melted in the palm of hands

& slipping through like time’s
slick sand.        // when

in the dark, my heart gives way
to thoughts of hunt, but who’s the prey?

to dance is to think with arms & legs.
to breathe is to live another day.

// where   ,still the clock moves ever on
with every moment a stroke but long.

tick- you’re born.
tock- you die.

the in-between’s your life’s sweet sigh.

(so)

build life on the moment’s lull.
pull the tide or watch it go.    (*)

the star’s are dead, that much is true

but

still their light just shines on through.

-Amber Renee

Thanks for reading! Don’t forget to drop an email or to follow me on
facebook , twitter & instagram 🙂

-Amber

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