The Clock

My troubles all started 15 minutes ago
when the clocked ticked a stop and ran really slow.

All the people I loved who didn’t love me back
all seems now, rather matter of fact.
The luxurious items that I could not afford
all the cars that I drove that I did so adore.
But the gold and the jackets estate sales did claim
and the Porsche and the Lexus are all but a name.
And the plasma I watched from the living room wall
and the front load washer standing seven feet tall
are in someone else’s house or in someone else’s hall.
The trophy wife I landed with my TV and my car
Is reading life insurance papers at the local bar.
The estate in which I lived, with movie room and pool
was my kingdom here on Earth which I can no longer rule.
And as I float above my body and the surgeon tries his best
there is one last thing to you that I really must confess.
I’ve had it all wrong from the very, very start
for all these things I mention lie nowhere near the heart.
As they call the time of death I take a moment to reflect
and see my life, like my car, was a crumple of a wreck.
I made myself an island, accomplished well and spent
credit cards galore, and loved every cent.
But it’s people I have missed, that necessary part
more precious than the original, Italian works of art.
Some people take with them the heartache and the sorrows
from the loved ones and the kin who weep for all their morrows.
And dreary though it is this brokenness, a gift
we can carry with us here, far and wide across the rift.
But today no one weeps, no tears for me to keep
as I travel my last path through the far and wide and deep.
I didn’t see my time here as painful until now
I wish to set things straight, but cannot figure how.

So I say these words to you, embrace well others there
and for material things, do not give a care.
For at some point in time, which you will not know
the clock will tick a stop and run really slow.

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