The Clock

Her face was a blank canvas,
it had no artistry.
They said that numbers were written on her face,
as she loved to count, one to sixty.
One… two… three...

She leaned against the wall, my lonely time keeper.
The longer I looked, her stare got deeper.

Her voice eating at my scheduled agreements;
She dictated my life.
There were disagreements,
but she never showed her strife.
Can you see?

As a small crack of sunlight from the curtains, filled the room.
I looked at her, she smiled but showed her regular gloom.

Her hands were lines of dictation,
they never stood still.
Her mind was always in motion,
her hands showed your time at her will.
Listen to me...

She watched, but all she did was wave and talk;
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.

She watched me behind the glass pane covering her facade.
Did she ever get tired?
Tick, Tock.
What did she have to hide?
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.