Shigé Clark Writing


wasted time


Tic-tock, tic-tock,
Another minute.
Another wasted moment in it.
A breath, a flinch,
And then it’s finished.

Tic-tock, tic-tock,
And life just passes.
A mess of work, and sleep, and classes,
Brief tumble through
The whirling masses

Tic-tock, tic-tock…
We chase the ending
Some wavering and some unbending
But each one lost
And all pretending

Tic-tock, tic-tock
Where are we going?
We plummet onward, never knowing
Just why we run
Or when we’re slowing.

Tic-tock, tic-tock,
We hear the clicking,
The pain of age comes to us, pricking
Don’t think, run on,
The Clock is ticking.

– s. Clark


I asked him, aren’t you tired?
And he said he hated sleep
Because he simply couldn’t bear
To see the the day depart
The time will pass us either way,
I asked that he recall,
The moon is done, and with the sun,
A brand new day will start.

I should have known him better,
And of course I know he knows,
Time marches on and waits for none
To kindly step away,
But even facing battle
In a war that he must lose,
He isn’t one to bow to things
So common as a day.

– s. Clark

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