Fields of Time

Watching over
the fields of time,
the trees stand guard,
sinister in their stillness,
with crooked limb
and glowing eyes.
Throughout the field,
each bloom a clock
counting down the seconds
of each and every life;
marking each minute,
harkening each hour.
Oh the numbers
of that vast sea!
The cacophony
of hands tick-ticking,
the solemn finality
as each clock ticks
its final tock.
The growing din
as each silent clock
is replaced in kind
by a few shiny new ones,
adding to the discord.

About this poem: ▼

Written for: "Invalid Item"  Octoberfest Round 4
Prompt: ** Image ID #2092030 Unavailable **
Line Count: 24
Free Verse