.
Tick. Tock. Tick.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Silently beats an invisible clock.
Night turns to day, day turns to night.
Following a metronome nowhere in sight.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Sixty seconds make a minute.
Sixty minutes, the hour limit.
Twenty-four hours beget a day.
Seven-day weeks just slip away.
Fifty-two weeks, a year to make.
Ten years go by, another decade.
No way to stop and start again.
No way to slow, no way to extend.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Every second, the clock hands fly.
Morning, midday, noon, and night.
Hands hit twelve, midnight arrives.
Yesterday leaves, with no goodbyes.
Storms can’t stop, nor wars unwind.
Fire’s no match for the force of time.
Invisible, marking seasons and lives,
Time is exposed by the sun and the tides.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Morning sun, rises at dawn
From east to west, another day gone.
Winter, spring, summer, and fall
Arrive in order, as if on call.
No pauses, lapses, or retreats.
Time marches on never missing a beat.
From the start of time, a grand design
Ages, rhythm, and perfect rhyme.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
In the hearts of men, eternity lies.
No tears, no clocks, no goodbyes.
Here for a time, a limited stay.
LORD, teach us to number our days.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
.
.
Twila Brase, RN, PHN, is the co-founder and president of Citizens’ Council for Health Freedom(CCHF). She is the author of numerous CCHF reports on medical privacy and health care policy. She also authored the eight-time award-winning book, “Big Brother in the Exam Room: The Dangerous Truth about Electronic Health Records” (2018), now in its fourth printing. She lives in Minnesota.
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I was struck (fortunately not by the hands of the clock) by the briefer verses to begin and end the poem along with the interspersal of tick, tock, tick tock. Your unique thought process was something to behold as you numbered the days of our own lives with fleeting time. I could feel the metronome and even envisioned one I had seen a long time ago as if in a metronomic trance. Your excellent words, meter, and rhyme were entrancing.
Thank you, Roy! I’ll treasure those words. Haven’t done poetry in a long time and I’m honored by your appreciation.
I love this one, Twila! I’ve always been fascinated with Time, and you’ve pretty much covered the various segments it is divided into, and then wrapped it up with Eternity, which lies “in the hearts of men”. “Winter, spring, summer and fall Arrive in order as if on call.” — great lines! (I’m so obsessed with the Time/Eternity theme that I wrote a whole collection of poems called “Notes on Time”).
Like Roy, I could feel the metronome throughout the poem, a very lovely effect.
I took a look at your website, and am glad to know you are working for health freedom. I’m glad the link was included in your post.
Thank you Cynthia! So glad you like the poem and my work. Would be interested in seeing your poetry on time as well. Thank you for taking the TIME to comment. 🙂
Nicely done, Twila. I could feel the march of time in your words.
Thank you Paul. Glad you could feel it. What more does a writer want? Thank you!
On the surface, this poem is programmatic, but only until the reader attends to the themes. The principal one is the regular inevitability of time’s progress, well stated as “No way to slow, no way to extend.” Having watched Los Angeles burn during days just before publication of this piece, some of us try to reflect that “Fire’s no match for the force of time.” Inescapable. It’s clever to consider time manifesting perfect meter in its ticks and tocks, as Twila Brase speaks of its “rhythm and perfect rhyme.” Each tick or tock, I should note, is equal to a metrical foot. Four of them neatly equal one line of the poem. And at the end, where there is a question of “numbering our days,” it’s appropriate to answer with a total of seven ticks and tocks, since the speaker already said seven is the number of days in a week. The poem thus concludes with a lively “uptick”! Mathematically correct and enjoyable.
I’ve rarely read a more apocalyptic poem.