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Array
(
[sid] => 168087
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Clock
[time] => 2011-10-25 12:18:17
[hometext] => Honest coments only be them good or be them bad
[bodytext] => The Clock Is this a mental aberration or is my sanity being mocked An illusion brought on by fever or is it the ticking of a clock It sits there, high on mantle, numbers bold about its face Out of style, out of date and more than a little out of place With the clearing of some unknown vapor, my fevered mind remembers Finding it among the ashes of a friend’s home last December It no more than crossed my threshold then something strange I must avow Began pulling me into confusion as much as my reasoning would allow I sit here desperately diverting my attention staring deep into the fire While the evil thing sits above me, staring down from its pyre I feel it staring, almost burning with a face that has no eyes And it pulls me ever to it with its hands ten fingers shy The excruciating pressure from the unwinding of its spring Distorting my reality and squeezing sanity from my brain I could toss it in the fire, but then what would that imply Common sense lost to madness a fevered mind could not defy I thought this is utter nonsense a loss of reason, to be tortured by a clock It’s just the fever and nothing else, and then I realized the ticking stopped Alas it’s just my imagination as I nervously run my fingers through my hair Wiping beads of perspiration from my forehead, falling back into my chair The pressure became even greater when I no longer heard the thing Then I asked myself to my horror was it the clock that kept me sane In delirium to the mantle I grabbed the key and began to wind Burned alive by the fever, laughing madly while it chimed Was it the fever, was it the madness or some strange unknown power That makes a man rewind a clock while being consumed by a fire Needy friends searched through the rubble of the place of my demise When someone found it in the ashes and loudly claimed it as his prize Toward home he quickly hurried clutching tightly to what he’d found Two months later they heard him laughing while all about him his house burns down Poem by R. E. Poore [comments] => 1 [counter] => 124 [topic] => 5 [informant] => bobbyclay56 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ChildrensPoetry )
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