Thursday, May 7, 2009


This following poem was written by my late husband in the '70 's....


A clock ticks,
twice a second in the vacant air,
it hits against the silence
of the room,and holds in defiance
the emptiness, the apparent nothing.
And tells of someone near.

The clock ticks,

a scarf liesdraped across a chair,cold silk not worn today, butused some time. But not todayso discarded it is still, still.Placed across the chair.

Clock's ticking,

still twice a second. Someone will know

what the time is, in this patient silence;

someone wants to know, someone not yet there

and the room waits silently.

Like the scarf across the chair.

Poem by Alex copyright

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