Tick, Tock,

Hands on a clock,

Go tick, tock.

Oh, how time goes by slow,

And fast.

Time is sometimes on our side,

And sometimes it isn't.

Numbers mean nothing to me,

Except when I am impatient.

The big, bold hand goes and strikes on the hour,

I wish I could go sour.

But, there is so little time to fuss so.

Where does it go?

Out the window?

Out the door?

In my mind,

In my head,

It ticks away slowly, like a bomb.

Occasionally I am calm.

But, sometimes I blow up.