The Pendulum

I mark my days in a clock without hands

Each hour’s worth etched,

Into the metal,

My heart screams in disgust

As I paint the fabric of my days, with deeds

Not necessarily noble, nor otherwise, simply

Inconsequential, unnecessary,

Serving only to lift the boredom away

Even so, there is no definite direction, as to where I go

Back and forth the pendulum of my life swings

And I, my lies, and all that now lie behind

Follows the rhythm, neither moving forth

Nor coming back, simply contemplating in the middle

Whether to move forth or back

Nor at peace doing so, for thus I lose

My means to move beyond

As day stretches on to year,

And year, to lifetime

I find the integrity of all I established

Fading away, even as I, stubborn to the end,

Refuse, to fade so lightly, away



In the end, I find,

I never did leave for, nor reach anywhere

Simply swaying all the while, to the tune

Of the pendulum

Or was I, reverberating my way through the days

The pendulum I speak of itself?