clever blue eyed clock

measuring the width of harm

in ratchet clicks so solemn ,

childhood had finished

you saw to  that

overtook my heart with years

as firm shrouding

growing up was a facility

in the forest where only some

belonged,

and i did not want to go there

it was a sentence

a finish

even ultimatum

to those near expiry date

flesh baggage creased and folded

eyes as dim bulbs,

i was the one on the bicycle

wishing to go past

shouting at the top of my voice

yet something broke the wheels

and i was left at the path

sat crosslegged wondering,

one woman with a cart lopsided

and one eyed horse offered me a lift

and i refused despite

silky touch of mane

as horse nuzzled my hand,

i was broken not forgotten

resisting time as an armed guerilla,

i would fight

and there would be casualties

3wordwednesday

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Comments
  1. The Real Cie says:

    Reblogged this on The Cheese Whines and commented:
    Somehow it feels like a description of heading into old age.
    I’ll be fifty in not very long. I’m going to become “the older generation” in not very long.
    In one sense I don’t mind. In another, I don’t like it at all. Not because of vanity, but because of loss.

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