I've managed to work up another stanza for Tock which I'm very happy with once again. With it being my post popular post on my writing so far I hope that you will like this as much as last time.
Believed that there on the platform
my gaze was glued; on the hands of the round clock,
which pierced, like halberds and penetrated: as if to inform,
me of my vain attempt to try and lock
myself away, from the cemetery and the coffins knock.
As they lay, lifeless, in the circular pantheon, who
can say that the clocks numbers are not taking stock?
The guillotine falls on every minute, as if to
accentuate the care free luggage, and my journey, en lieu.
Something must have gone wrong for me.
Was I misinformed of a delay, or a connection missed?
Perhaps if I'd hired a contact to stay and foresee
the state of this station my burden would not persist;
and this suitcase of the damned could be cast away, and dismissed.
For I do not know if my sanity wishes it to be banished
or if it depends solely upon it to exist.
What seems certain, is that the baggage cannot be vanished,
and that it stares at me like a foe who it has vanquished.
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