Rob Krabbe's Blog: From a Krabbe Desk, page 11

All Those Damned Clocks

I’ve tried all the clocks
Manifest in time, the wanderer

Your silhouette, masked by my wanting
The passing and searching

The ghost of my skin, cool touch
The haunting of my memories, and imaginings

The combinations, and consternation
The melding of reality, and mind’s leavings

The confusion of the heart’s leanings
The distraction of the thoughts, marked by time passing

I’ve tried all the clocks
Wound them back, and tight

Smashed them against rocks
Burned them in the fire fight

Banished them with locks
Cast them into the dead of night

But time, manifest, takes it’s due
And my wandering, finds not you

But only the smell of a final fog
And deepest desire, rants, and needs, and mocks
The innocence of all those damned clocks

Rattle and Rave

The spirits crave
Deep into the meaning
Plunge into the blood and guts
Rip the death from its grave
Sometimes seeming
Like the walking dead
Burning down the soul, and what’s
The slave to do, besides endlessly dreaming?

The demons rattle and rave
A false heart beaming
Distractions while they prattle, and cut
Rip the death from its grave
Its cold dead heart, a moment of screaming
And the words that are said
Fully baked to hang until dead
But the victory is won, redeeming.

So spirit, find your heart
Heart, find your beat, your soul gleaming
Teaming with life and liberty unclaimed
Named by the rebirth of hope
Which is death to the scheming
The hope that God gave, which cuts
To the quick, but flings death high and wide
And gives the spirit wings and wind, to fly.