1/27/11

For several years, it rode upon my wrist,

As I would journey on and make my way,

It kept the seconds, not a moment missed,

Persistently, pronouncing times of day,

It kept close measure with each rising breath,

Through great elation and dark brooding moods,

It’s mechanisms met my pulse, and yet,

A mishap saw it’s watchfulness removed.

But as it’s checking stopped- my life advanced,

Despite it’s loss, my tempo still persists,

Although it’s memory fades and life supplants,

In times of fancy, I imagine this:

In some reality split off by chance,

A man who seeks the time still checks his wrist.