by: Tracey-Ann Nadine Hutchinson
As the hands of the Grandfather Clock
Carry time further,
I?m swept into a fear that this world will never end,
Hour by hour, year by year, it goes on,
Winding my heart unstrung,
How longer can I take it,
How further will I go,
In this chaotic madness of an enigma,
May I please be excused, I ask each day,
When I bend my knees to say what I may,
My heart is getting sorer,
My wounds are getting deeper,
Some, I know, I tore open myself,
With this knife I now hold desperately,
Desperately, to be gone.
Desperately, to be shun.
Take me, my Hyperion.
