Journal

Melancholy Clocks


 

Seven
taps on a glass screen
silence stings
welts upon the dream
serenity

Thousand
Miles more between
barbed tongue
confident no one
vacancy

Minutes
lost to waiting
scales crawl
Atlas shrugged
melancholy

 

  There will come a time when I’ll see this poem and much like most of the rest I won’t remember what I meant. I wonder if that’s a good thing or a bad thing sometimes.