If all the clocks stood still for a whole day I'd pack my bags and take a walk.

As I leave the house I don't check my mail 'cause nobody could reach me anyway this day. I walk down the streets, breathe in the clean air and listen to the sound of silence since there are no cars or people around.

A song forms in my mind, which I sing while walking down my path alone. I reach the park next to my home and look around. Noone's there except the wind fondling the trees and bushes. A few yellow flowers are growing on the meadow, not wondering why they are even there.

I keep on walking, reach a huge square that's totally empty. I pull some chalk out of my backpack and begin drawing on the ground. I take my time drawing while admiring the place in a way I've never been able to before due to all the people and noise.

"Love is the answer, not matter what you're asking.", is written there now for everyone to see. I leave the place, walking on, taking down flags, posters and stickers of fascists and racists on my way, replacing them with rainbows and hearts.

Until the sun sets, I keep walking around, tearing down signs of hatred and building those of love.

As midnight draws nearer I sit down in the park I visited first this day, watching the world starting up again. It starts with clocks ticking, birds singing, the growing sound of voices and vehicles. The others are waking up again, hopefully to notice the traces I've left behind, maybe wonder and think about them.

I hope to have changed anything on this one day I had as my time stops and I fade away leaving a small share of silence.
Finally my clock stood still.

Fireflies dance pretty
well, byte-sized fairies' tale
long & twistle: a tongue's whistle
In the dark, dark arts made
bright lights sing like a clock:

"Tik Tok, Tik Tok"

This chime, time circles
red like Asian kings: vultures
tightening the noose like Zeus
on Douyin's long neck. Hands dance, bytedance on a fairytale clock

"Tik Tok, Tik Tok"

Synchronised
Clocks ticking
Slowly move away
No longer in sync
Dead.

/written a world apart/

There are days where I am high upon a dusk cloud
And rustic skylines bleed into bare trees

There are days where I bleed into white sheets
And I never leave the the lights on

There are days, and then more days
And minutes within smiles,
seconds ticking laughter, half assed conversation among fruitful hallways

Strawberry girl smiles and she would hate that I called her that
And maybe she would hit me and maybe I’m an *******, and maybe I’m a baby

And I’m a baby.

I remember not knowing I could die, not ever thinking about my heart, not ever waisting any time.
I should be that way now,
And yet as clocks continue to tick I just hum along in the warmth
So sometimes days become weeks
But sometimes days are just too short
And some days I am just to short
For the heights  I want to reach

I remember jumping had a different connotation when I was a kid...

My life goes by like clockwork
Everyday ticks by
Repeating the motions of yesterday

A blind face is the only introspection
many can afford.
Does watching make it worthwhile?
Does counting calm your nerves?

The hands will always listen,
when all we are is gone
The ticking never ceases,
whispering along.

it used to throw me
into a wall and i banged my head
so many times that i realized
that it’s in my mind, “time”

it’s a story aching to be written -
only it’s a story
lacking characters, and they were kiddin’
when they said that time was tangible -
truth is, we’re here, we’re now, we’re infrangible
the story wasn’t written for us to keep

and i don’t think it’s right that time hangs from the clocks in a ticking glass
or that it’s a vase of dying roses only
potentially shattered by poets
time’s a lie
time’s what keeps you on rhythm,
on rhyme

age strips from you
the rapture of being in the moment
what’s passed grips you
‘til you’re stock-still, speechless, stricken only
with rainy days in the memory places,
sleepless nights and splintering vases -
rather,

smile at the starlit galaxy,
feel live symphonies in all your cells, and
taste the choruses that freed your throat of a stupid lock
that clicked when someone deemed you “not enough -“
not enough?
you’re filled with stories, you’re making one right now, and think
how every moment is with you
each time you inhale, since you first sought breath
with infant lungs
the moment you escaped this hellish jail

time is not a ticking glass
it’s laughing with me after class
and knowing that will always last
in you no matter how far
or how fast
i go from what’s long, gone, passed
because time is in fact
a useless mass
of numbers in a ticking glass.

Tick… tock…
Tick… tock…

Waiting.

The most dreadful
Of emotions.

Time is only
A construct,
Yet we submit
To it so.

Waiting.

Clocks.
They spin
And they spin
And they spin

Every so often,
Going a little crazy.
Sound familiar?

Waiting.

Without a distraction
I listen to the beat
Of my heart

The humming
Of a storm
On the rise.

Waiting.

My hands shake
Anxious for the
Event to start.
Waiting.

Tick… tock…
Tick…  tock…
Tic… ding!


It’s here!

Broken clocks fixing the time,
The elegists are singing the hymn.
The sky shedding its tears,
As for who will bear the bearer.

The ink is fading as the time is near,
The ticking of the clocks is all I hear.
Second-by-second, minute-by-minute,
Can't let them be my source of despair.

Running before time to end up straight,
Just to find it was written in the fate.
I hit them hard they hit me back,
Gained a moment, lost a million days.

There are three clocks in my house,
One has been stuck at 3 forever,
One got stuck at 8 this morning,
There's only one that's running,
Is  5 minutes late,
And I've got friends who can't wait