The Clockmaster

clock eye steampunk

All life all being must march in time
unaware and outside
of its glasslike strands twisting through the unseen
stretching back before history in ropey precision
except for the clockmaster
who lives within under around
inside it
with all its gears and machinations
and fascinations
counting the beat of the wheels and cogs in
the pumping of his blood
as he turns ticking with the tides and the stars and the moon
in perfect rhythm
in time
and behind it
he is the cosmic mover of brass and metal and oiled infinity
phases seasons oceans dance
more than a man and less than a god
precisely measuring
the beat the cadence
setting the hands to turn into the eternal
spinning an air of timelessness
which cannot be
because he is
will always be
always was
there

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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2 Responses to The Clockmaster

  1. reyvrex says:

    Very expressive write and personal. Write on.

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