Pace

about time.

The second hand ticks against my back,

throwing me forward

with every passing unit

-despite my dug-in heels-

only then do

I turn and pump my toes

against the face of the clock-

palms out- and pushing

against

time’s inevitability

in vain.

No one ever said
I could run with,

and as fast as the hours

No one taught me

to use

It’s ticking hands

as the wind at my back.

So instead

I fight against

this fear of the pressure,

closing my eyes,

hoping my body will

take care of the

growing old

on it’s own

because I’m not sure

my mind can take it.

Through no

lucid effort,

my brain, itself

forms the knife in between my lungs

that stabs through every breath

laboring every one

as well as

the pace of my every thought.

but

There’s an furled sail

right there next

to this knife,

keeping my breaths

painful company.

Waiting for the day

my mind

takes the knife away

letting

the sail of my soul,

now unwound

and in full view of the world,

propel me forward

as the tick tock’s

wind rocks

my boat side to side

but forward

finally

as fast as

I was always meant to go.

Reviews

[Perkele.7885]

Pegs, there is no holding back the hands of time but, we can find that pace where we can grow comfortable with each day as it passes. This was a unique read as I found the poem to be witty in it's construction!
The two singular spread lines, yet and There's a furled sail, I did not understand the placement!
However, a very enjoyable piece of work of which you can be proud!

[Pegs Van Damme]

you're right, I didn't mean for it to look like that, thanks for letting me know. Unfortunately that might've taken away from it at first read but thanks for the compliment anyway.