Monday, 27 February 2012

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.

1 comment:

  1. Very nice poem there! I really like it :)

    (Kyle's friend btw :P)

    As a writer myself, I'd be very interested in reading more of your stuff. :)