On the clock’s face

The hands on the clock
slowly orbit the pale, dull face,
seemingly unaware

that the snow brought
a chill (or
at least a hint.)

The sun almost
shone as babies blinked,
staring at nothing

a general malaise that
lay beneath bubbles and
banana pudding breath.

Yes
snow covers the grass
and

a cold chill echoes through
the last

of a winter storm that turned whatever
we had planned black and cold,

echoes.

Depression cries out
through the seemingly endless black
(where noise blinds us,
while

not so long ago
this all made sense).

Amid the senselessness
of another terrifying flash
of lightning –
of the fury

that flares for an instant
then recedes

to background noise – we
find solitude, short

of understanding.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

8 thoughts on “On the clock’s face

  1. hhennenburg

    “We find solitude, short of understanding” – this line is a beautiful punch to the gut, as we humans are so wired to want to understand. I have had some moments of solitude that gave me opportunities to embrace what we cannot understand and even see value in the mystery. Thank you for bringing me back to that solitude. I really enjoyed your poem.

    Like

  2. From other people and even yourself
    you might find a short understanding
    ask to be heard so you can deliver
    but understood, don’t get too demanding
    ask yourself does he/she can really help?
    ask this, in which land are you landing?
    my advice is, try always to do your best
    you will become in someone outstanding.

    Liked by 1 person

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