The clock ticks too loudly in this lonesome house that used to be a home. But it ticks away, time. While the value, usefulness and normal functioning of everything around it, everything that thinks about these things, me, is dimished and lost to the point of no return. That ticking clock. The damage done. How long can it go on? When is enough enough? When is the detrimental effect of the damage greater than the memories and wishes of better days? It’s now. Now. That’s what the clicking clock says. It’s now. The damage is happening now. Where did it come from? That’s before. Where will it lead? That’s the future. But now, the clock ticks, the damage is here, right now. Listen to it. A bomb has gone off. A bell has tolled. Tick tick tick tick…boom.
It’s some time after that original post, attempted poem, but it got me thinking, as I listen to the rainfall like the ticking of the clock, about some music I heard many years ago that was probably in my subconscious as I wrote it. I liked this band. Listened to them a lot. No idea what ever happened to them. And they could say the same about me. Tick tick tick tick tick… Boom.
In any case. The damage of having your head in the sand…it’s too late. It’s too soon. It’s too late. It’s now. It’s raining like crazy. Erosion and or cleansing of lives happening now. Tick tick tick tick tick tick…and then it’s too late. Nothing but sorries and sorrows and pouring rain. And damage. Boom.