Rhythm of the Clock

We are painted by time. Our souls the brushes guided by the hours and days and years. Our wrinkles, our scars, strokes of paint the colour of life.

Art that lasts the fleeting forever of our lifetimes.

As we age, we lose our obsession with perfection, and allow time to paint its abstract beauty. For we all lie down to the rhythm of the clock.

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31 thoughts on “Rhythm of the Clock

  1. Pingback: Rhythm of the Clock | rebbthoughts

      • i don’t mean time ends at our
        demise when we enter into the light after
        death … we already live in the world of light but we have to re-discover it and when that happens we become whole … when we were children we lived in the world of light but …. we didn’t know it … we just lived! then we are dragged into the world of time, into the adult world, away from the light.. so, we learned about time … since we’ve already lived in the light as children … .we can now go back to the world of light knowing both worlds because without the knowledge of time we don’t know the world of light anymore … we need the contrast to show us the truth …. so we returne to the light i.e., back to seeing the world through the eyes of the child along with the knowledge of time … we are complete! we’ve returned to where we started and know that place for the first time! the world of light …. we see the world through the eyes of a child child again with the contrast of time making it all real … it’s awful to live in the world of time …. i wrote a poem about this … it’s called ”when we were young” … thanks for commenting on my comment …. i like your writing very much … i often wonder where your creative thinking and your propensity for words …. comes from … very beautiful … i carry with me your vision of rain on the windows of the bus you wrote about not too long ago …. kind of a morose day for you but beautiful … i call it ‘sweet melancholy. my poem is called ”when we were young” … i hope you get a chance …. thanks … ks

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  2. Nicely done, Christine. I like the concept and imagery and rhythm of the words – each of us a painting in progress through our “fleeting forever”, becoming abstract eventually, as slowly we sink to “the rhythm of the clock”. Read aloud, at a measured pace, your prose poem works well. If you perform to live audiences, this would be a good one to do.

    Paul

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