Skip to content

Tick Tock.

Tick Tock.

 

A Poem
By
Chris Millar

Impeded.

Only a minute since last glance looked
Pressing time feels well overbooked
The march is raising the hurried pace
To much cramming and not enough space.

Frantic then hectic clashing and colliding
Jumping out from where they were obviously hiding
A time waster, magnifying little and drawing it out
Being patient and polite, denying the need to shout.

Not enough things and to many people
Chaos’s sermon in this church of no steeple
Random incidents that are seen as just our luck
Time to man up no passing this puck.

Being held by circumstances as others pass by
Raising a plea to the unanswering sky
Fretting and shifting by the inconvenient intrusion
Feeling scrutinised not part of the inclusion.

Placed on the spot to produce what is not
Delivered derision showing the little you’ve got
Belittled and made to feel not measured up
The last little dregs from the bitter wines cup.

Not valued and worthy, but times worst waste
As welcome as any sour or bitter after taste
The moment is passed and time moves on
The memory fades then the discomfort is gone

Original piece composed around 04/02/2016.