Thursday, April 16, 2009

Atmosphere 27 - Time

(Mood: Drained)
(Sound Waves: Your Love Is A Drug - Puffy AmiYumi)

Le temps est ├ęternel
A clock is the symbol of change, keeps going forward, never-ending.
It comes in gears, in cogs, in dials, in digital images in a LCD screen.
It is a round table with twelve numbers and like ancestors, keep watching over me as I watch them in anticipation.
It has two hands, keeping it halfway, partway, a quarter for the days, one for the moments.
It ticks away the days, the weeks, the months, the years, in an ecstatic, painful pace.
It ticks away the seconds, like a countdown, towards completing meager duties and tasks.
It chants the lonely, tedious sound that keeps one company in an empty house.
It turns AM into PM, through the looming dusk, the rising sun, the twilight, the daybreak, ongoing.
It keeps one wanting it to stay, waiting for it to leave.
It tells stories, it tells lies.
It tells when the game's on, to force the meeting to stop, to be in her arms again.
A clock keeps the time loosely yet firmly against its chest, onto its sweaty wrist, yearning for that something that might or never come.