Revolution

The clock is ticking by my bed.

The clock is ticking in my head.

The clock is ticking on the wall.

The clock is ticking in God’s great hall.

Hands sweeping the face, erasing time.

Hands sweeping the face without a rhyme.

Hands sweeping a face without any eyes.

Hands sweeping a face that never lies.

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, how long did God wind my clock?

Do I have decades and decades to go

as the pendulum swings to and fro?

My end grows near with every breath.

At times I secretly beckon death.

For many this may sound bizarre.

“I am quite ready for my final hour.”

But, if there are new lives to find,

let’s pray a few give us more time.

A few more trips around the sun,

with a little more life, and much more fun.
Stanley Victor Paskavich