Wearing Time

The toothless cogs of stilled machines,
Mills rusted shut in eternal closings,
The silenced pens of poets
without dreams:

That void
filled with chaotic schemes that only time
can turn toward their true mirror.

Every venture
is born indentured, a slave
to the pendulum’s swing,

What is that bangle
buckled on your wrist?
You wear it well.

4 thoughts on “Wearing Time

  1. Every venture
    is born indentured, a slave
    to the pendulum’s swing,

    Sarah,
    Superb lines in a perfect poem. Your poetry keep amazing me, my friend. You are a true poet.
    As ever,
    Francina

  2. BoardFlak

    Sarah, I’m picking out the same lines as Francina, with the same conclusion. You know, always wondered where I got that thing…

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