Tock: #2

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.

You reader:
                  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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Tock

This is a single stanza of poetry I managed to conjure up today and felt like you might enjoy a bit of Spenserian style poetry! 

I do have plans to expand this for I'm extremely pleased with the results so far and believe it could make for a wonderful piece.

You- reader:

                        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 coffins knock.

As they lay, lifeless in the circular pantheon, who

can say that the clock’s numbers are not taking stock?

The guillotine falls on every minute as if to

accentuate the care free luggage, and my journey, en lieu.