Unwound

The ticking clock
Ticks every box
Until you stand
knee deep in
The sands of time… you're sinking.

And we are like
That ticking clock
You tick, you tock
You’re just a box
That’s how you rock…. Unwinding.

When your spring
Was tightly wound
You talked the torque
And walked the walk
Unending, Unrelenting….. Untiring.

But now that spring
Is growing slack
The tension gone
can’t keep the beat
For your swansong….. declining.

And now your ticks
Have Ceased to tock
You’re a broken clock
Winding down
Unticked….. untocked…… unwound.

[☠northy]

Compelling poem - and I really like the simple dignity of the image accompanying it

[Anna Kucharska]

Makes me think.....

[PhotoCrazy]

Nice pic, reminds me that the number of ticks is running out!!

[Danksound]

A beautiful old clock.

[Gabrielle Snyder]

Well done on all counts!

[Kitty Hawke]

Love the poem...very poignant.....