tick tock goes the clock;
it's an unoriginal start, I know
but here we go:
tick tock, tick tock
a tiny step forward in time
a pointless measure, really,
purely symbolic
dripping through the day
a leaking tap or lazy drain
tick tock, tick tock
another, and another, and another,
like tiny soldiers they march on
to fall away
in the echoes of the day
disgust, I think, starts with boredom,
with two idle hands, too much time to think
the mini-revolution
on a battlefield of ink
between red tape and politics
false promises that wink
so charmingly
we sit and wait to be released
but to what?
more clocks?
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