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Number 11
May 6, 2010
I am a clock,
An unwilling example of age's mark.
Standing in solitude
As the craft of sleep,
The Swordsman and the Sharpshooter,
Break the horizon.
Denying the humanity that calls me,
I set aside my desires.
I am paper beneath a hide,
A key to the Animalia,
A howling reminder of the truth.
And the light is cancerous,
Infatuation seeping through my pores,
Emphasizing weakness.
Breaking the bricks which encase the treasure,
I work for a promise,
For the being that I could be
Taunts me in the wilderness ahead.
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