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Hour Hand Obsession

written by: Don Knowles



Sentimentality pools the sweat of our ages
Reservoirs tears in each wrinkled crevasse
Eroding a once blemished brow to black crow appendages
Remember when’s are elaborated to Odyssean feats
Discovery of truth about a half lie
forgetting false memories or garnished by them
Where simplicity hordes itself on dusty dark corner shelves
While all complexity displays itself on a rotating dais
Multiplicity bores Past the neurons
Complexity Clogging the misfit synapses
A trinket holds more attention than a reunion
A bobble is a grand necessity
An empty embrace all you give and receive
While each day is Black Friday
As we crane heads momentarily from a device
To gape at our personally perceived diorama
Beings don’t see every color as group perception
We see variance a plethora of hues in view
Until the fade-away
Till the credits roll on by
Past the salt stung eyesight of our first forgotten
These are moments you inventory
A beat we all move our feet to
Conscious or comatose
While the pendulum weights of our internal clock
Pulls the minute hand swiftly across our face
Hour hand obsession

Don Knowles

Don Knowles

My writing is typically written while I'm on a treadmill, so I call myself "the treadmill poet!"

Born in West Chester Pa in 1960 I have been inspired to begin writing again through my interactions with two people I care deeply about that are experiencing the torrents of mental illness.
Don Knowles

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