Awoken by the sound of a biological clock
Planning, preparing every morrow
The same dull, mundane routine
Such as the flat stretch of the road
To the everyday destination we follow.
As we drift towards the familiar location in space
The same pavement beneath our feet
Caught in by the shimmering morning asphalt
Faces whirring by at a mile a ‘beat.
The tick of the biological clock
Signals the gears’ turning
As the ghost of a memory transposes itself
Before our eyelids over the mourning
It remembers the past frame of time well
Though graced with the presence of slight differences
Of whose absence the second tick reminds us
As the faltering memory ages.
Oh, how the inner self is painfully aware
Of the uncertainty tomorrow brings
And how it silently laments what we fail to acknowledge:
The loss of the sombre fragments,
The loss of the simple things.