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The Clock Ticks
The clock ticks.
All it took was batteries and nailing it to a wall.
Simple.
A simple procedure that had an impact.
The clock ticks,
Sounds familiar.
The clock’s repeated Tick tock.
Once played in a different life,
Now replayed in the next.
Marked only with a thin layer of dust and a scratch or two,
The clock ticks the same still.
The clock carries its skill untouched,
A new beginning and a new battery life,
But the clock ticks the same as ever.
The tick recognized by visitors,
As a loud nuisance.
But also registered as a memory.
Softly ticking away in the back of Her head.
The clock ticked for Her once before;
First starting its journey,
And gradually becoming a part of the path.
The clock ticks,
Guiding Her towards an opening.
The clock ticks,
Steadying the uneven ground of worry.
The clock ticks,
Intersecting every aspect of Her life.
The clock ticks,
Connecting,
Her path from the old life to Her new one.
The clock ticks furthermore.
Her need for the clock to never stop ticking,
Is as vital that Her heart never stops beating.
2/16/20
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Thank you to the photographer whose photo I'm using to accompany my poem.