The Clock's Hunger

By Angel SIngh

Clock keeps drumming each resonance a breath,

The idle sound, pandemonic and wild.

Flesh holders trailing after the illusion of synth,

Lost in the labyrinth their intellects have bred.

Criticized was I for differing from the transgressor,

Compensating for every descending breath.

My teeth carving scripture on eternity's core,

Whispering essence that echoes beyond birth.

For a voice that hails the world as crooked,

Must have the measure of a straight path. 

Having assassinated the desires I once pursued,

Why do I shiver at the grave's cold breath?

The sun's apricity emerges and sinks,

Streams refracting honeyed rays.

I was chasing as the seconds shrank,

Why does my gaze inquire the clock's haze?

By Angel SIngh