Poetry: The Mantelpiece

On my mantelpiece, there was a clock
It ticked, it ticked, it ticked, it tocked
I watched, I watched, I waited some
As if my clock could raise the sun
And with each tick, my clock did crack
Its face shattered into my back
And yet, not a single drop of blood
Instead, a blackness thick as mud

On my mantelpiece, there was a child
A cherub grinning at his wiles
He watched me close with a chipped white eye
And laughed at me when I passed by
And daily I passed by in deep despair
Blocking out my world without a care
But that cherub once never did cease
He would not let me die in peace

On my mantelpiece, there was a frame
And within, my world was thus contained
It held all my life's hopes, my joys
It held my heartbeat's tender noise
And once upon a lonely day
I knocked the frame from its sacred stay
It cracked my floor, it cracked its face
And with it cracked my sacred place

On my mantelpiece, there was a ring
Left floating on a lone unpolished string
It hovered so dangerously over the floor
And once, I realized it was no more
I searched, I searched, I searched and failed
My hopes were dashed, and thus, I wailed
And yet, despite my darkest cries
The world would not release my life

On my mantelpiece, there was a knife
Carved carefully with a skilled man's strife
He worked its blade to the perfect state
And its purpose was never a debate
So without my heart, my blood, my place
I took it from its sheath, it's state of grace
And with no care for the world I knew
It was my own life that I then slew

On my mantelpiece, there is a painting
It is of my face, looking oddly saintly
And I sit on my sofa, now plastic and old
Somethings have changed, and I was not told
I blink, I blink, I blink, and I cry
I cannot figure out what has passed me by
The cherub is gone, the frame, I shriek!
And yet not a soul can hear me speak

Posted to dVerse