Time Before Clocks

ephemera

In the tired shadow of the overhang,

some towns wear their past as present;

ramshackles, shacks-in unmanageable shambles.

Miles of piles of mail, unread, unsaid, unsent.

 

Folks grew weary of fighting all-day-yawns.

Layers of dust coat the rusted, rusts' rust.

If the trees could breathe, no doubt they'd wheeze,

Not from pollution, but from oldest air gusts.

 

Older than the clock to tick-tock-it,

time's ticket gets a pick-pocket--can't be held.

Thank God this sundial thing is limited,

as all beings immortal soon tire of themselves.

Reviews

[Sweet & Tender Hooligan]

A thought provoking and interesting poem. The way you play with words makes it beautiful to read out aloud. I'm not to sure what you meant with the first line? And it may be just cause of that but that line seems feels out of place to me.

[Nobody.]

Love the whole thing....but the first two lines and the last line shine! Good stuff.
Cheers!
R.G.

[roarke]

Time. Great over looked subject. Seems you are well acquainted with Time. I enjoy how you play with the words in getting the concepts across. Fresh, original. We should all play with the words more. Some time we'll take the time to talk about time, if we get the time.

[MuSe Ampoule]

Great work E! I love the alliteration used...the sound and tempo are great.

And the message is forever true...everything has an expiration date...when even trees get tired of stale air.

This line stood out for me:
"Miles of piles of mail, unread, unsaid, unsent."

[Ruth]

This is insightful, beautifully penned! lol
Time places so much in its brackets and do we ever learn! Beautiful piece xx