Tick Tock

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Tick Tock

Tick tock, tick tock,
goes the old hallway clock
hours pass across its face
numbers help to keep its place
having hands that point the way
telling me the time of day.

Tick tock, tick tock,
goes the bedroom alarm clock
telling me it’s time to sleep
lay me down, sweet dreams to reap
sleeping ‘way my precious time
woken by the nagging chime.

Tick tock, tick tock,
goes the workplace time clock
laboring my time away
always work and never play
sands of time keep fooling me
falling into entropy.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

Past musings shared with my friends at Poets United for Poetry Pantry #387. Artwork: Google animated image search

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It’s My Song

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It’s My Song

So beautiful and free
I felt just like that once
the world my Wonderland
and I could do no wrong.

Blinded by my youth
forever was my troth
until that mighty fall
into the rabbit hole.

Now that time has passed
my body bent with age
my mind keeps playing tricks,
a lie!
(I tell myself.)

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

Shared with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.

Identity

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Identity

What’s your password and username?
So much information to retain
to me, it’s undeniably clear
we’re being controlled by mad puppeteers.

A barrage of strangers asking me
extremely private questions-constantly
I’d like to find a better way
if only I’d lived in another day.

An innocent time when life was good
when one still lived in their neighborhood
the internet was still a dream
and people relaxed by real streams.

My parents said life then was hard
but now I’m judged by credit cards
a government that has no clue
and I take it all like a proper fool.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Poets United.

The Woebegone Man

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The Woebegone Man

The woebegone man
just sits and sighs
wringing his hands
avoiding all eyes.

Too numb to feel
escaping instead
too hard to deal
rocks in his head.

A man who says yes
although he means no
yet no one would guess
’cause he doesn’t know.

Tragically depicted
he’s pale as the dead
chronically addicted
chain smoking dread.

He will never know why
depressed with no plans
no pretty blue skies
for the woebegone man.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written for dVerse~Poets Pub.

Inspector Inane

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Inspector Inane

The inspector was insufferable
at the inquest, his voice irritated everyone
his inflection fell flat
he would infest a room with his inadequacy
he liked to remain inebriated and inept
some said he was downright insane
his iniquity could almost inspire
he could be intimate but somehow
it would increase how insincere he really was.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.