The Clock (poem) by Deborah Bloodworth on AuthorsDen

Pure adrenaline-filled fun that flits between two worlds, offering lessons on the importance of friendship and loyalty...

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Poetry (Poetry)


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The Clock by Deborah Bloodworth Wednesday, September 05, 2007 Rated "PG13" by the Author. Share Print Save Become a Fan

Lowly buds Stand alone Still fixed with hesitation Sit idly by Never cry Awaiting transformation Seed Fertilized,Planted,Nourished,Tilled Another reckless harvest The Soil,The sun,The air,The rain Divided by the forest A careless cropper stands his ground *Digs up viciously by the root* It tells little Of the dangerous muse Leaving her voices mute Garden blossoms Hearty trees, Verdure The only growth we save Yet as a storm cloud quenches So shall we rise Like a phoenix from the grave If my heart is a poem Not a weed I too shall beat again Only there is no earth No water, Light nor sky Much to my distain We love all things of earth Water, Flora Even rock From a branchless trunk open palms replace hands on a clock

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Reviewed by John Meddling	5/2/2010

Hi Deborah, We met at at the department store one Saturday, and I have greatly enjoyed your writings.., especially "The Clock. Some of these writings you've poured your GUT PAIN into it.., "Sane Madness." Nevertheless it's very good work! Thanks to you I am now a registered Authors Den member. I look forward to reading more of your work and hearing your stories.




Reviewed by mike schrandt	7/31/2009

Congratulations are in order.There are so few things we have in common at a younger age,then realize years later.I think the idea of suffering for your art is a tortuous predisposition.Where love truly exists,whether for person or purpose...is often entangled.I like this more than I should.




Reviewed by Felix Perry	9/7/2007

Excellant write with a moral or platitude that shows all too well that life is just too dam short. fee