Pocket Watch

This fate
Of a wounding watch
Is fear of each
Missing moment
From the hand
Which never delivers
On its promise
Of keeping pace

Or an accurate
Change of face
As the hand
Still turns unknowing
While a gear inside
Stays broken
When its wearer
Loses track

As they find
No minute waits
For their losses
And chances
Passing quickly
Where experience
Moves so fast

To savor
Fleeting breaths
That enable
Every feeling
For interims
Gone forever
In the blink
Of tired eyes

Some may last
Among brief
And tragic seconds
Like each future
Always baiting
Our true ending
As it comes

From hours
Nearly new
Amid memories
Barely witnessed
Within spans
Of ticking torment
Upon learning
Now is lost

Empty dates
Without need
For telling stories
As the clock
Is never aging
But our bodies
Somehow do

Epochs fade
As these flawed
And certain instants
Of endless days
Only God
Can understand.

– J. Pigno

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