Poem: THE CLOCK’S THAT MARK MY TIME. And, calls to me by my name.

So, it seems to me they all called; calling, to me by name; whose, voice all seem to be the same. But, who’s shape’s do not stay the same.

For, shapes that change like I; from year to year; from, age to age.

Like, the passing time of changing me; the chiming clock voice’s of time passes and spoke but to me.

I know its changing shapes all too well; from, youth to adult to elder yet again.

From different colored walls; to walls.

From; round forms to square forms.

From, great cities clock buildings to a churches towers they adorn a lining; their, voices did all called my name and beckon me; from more of life too more.

It’s shifting shapes abound; as it calls to me in disguise; like Swiss Bird Home of a child or calls me to school days, military cadence tones to cadence time; through business noon and courtship; then marriage and home to you with child without fail.

I hear its tone, its  beckoning voice; all too well.

And how; I know; I know them all too well; for they tell me I am late; from a distant steeple or a wall; with oval burst of musical ray’s; chiming it’s order’s to me; I, say and helps me pass my time of day.

“Oh”, how; I long for it’s past voices allure; calling, of my name on time; and, shape’s of distant past; of old.