All I do is ignore how the hands of time echoes as it hangs on the wall; my eyes watching how it rotates in a constant cycle. Father time looking down at me when he puts free time right in front of my eyes; my expressionless face gazing in between the air and time where he sits in his control room. The thing is he can’t tell the meaning of why I stare at one of his dispirited copied clocks and the flood of thoughts that roam around my over capacity mind.

I’ve stared at bright brisk mornings and indigo blue skies once the sun grew tired. Once the clock freezes and birds start to sing heavenly on tree branches, I’ll step away from hearing the loud ticking from seconds and minutes passing by my presence.