The Pocket Watch I

As I was walking home,

I put my hands in my pockets,

And tried to ignore the cold.

Somewhere I could hear the faint pulse

of a pocket watch,

It's beat as loud as thunder

On the quiet street.

It occurred to me that this sound

Was like like the drum of my heart.

A rhythm like this does not last forever.

Neither blood or battery is infinite.

And yet in this world, time passes

Without a conscience, without a thought.

Yesterday felt like today,

And today feels like tomorrow.

I know I saw your smile,
Yet I cannot remember standing by your side.

I know I heard you laugh,

yet I cannot remember if I was there.

Dreams and reality merge,

And I'm never certain,
On the existence of my own memories.

What does it matter if I had written it down,

When it does not feel as if it happened?
Feeling lost in my own thoughts,
I continue walking along the street.

Up the hill,

But down in my own world,

Where the hands of a clock draw

circle upon circle,

losing it's perfect timing,

Half a second each day.

This will be part of a series of poems. The Pocket watch is symbolic to me, and there is still more I wish to express that I can't put into just one.