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Old 03-19-2009, 12:41 PM   #1
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Times in a Dark, Dry Age

A bit lengthy, so bare with me


The grandfather clock chimed nine times.
Many hours off, as it had always been.

It ticked incessantly,
Driving me mad.

It was old; dried out,
The gears creaked and squeaked
With rust, with weariness.

The face was cream with
Gold Roman numerals
With tiny black shadows.
The hands, accusing fingers,
Always pointing at me,
Gave me the strangest sense
Of being watched,
Manipulated…

The clock chimed eight times,
Ticking away, mine own body’s pulse.

Old and dry, I lay watching that tower
Of wood and steel.
I closely observed that the
Minute finger was moving with
The second finger’s rapidity,
Ticking faster and faster.

The ticking stops for an instant,
And the silence is palpable.

The beating resumes,
As does mine.

It chimes seven times,
Each one sounding with less
Of an interval than the one prior.

The dust on my body had accumulated
Over the years, measuring near an inch
And a half.
I was paralyzed under the pressure.
My breath sent swirls of microscopic matter
Spiraling through the air.
Up and up it would go,
And settle right where its short sojourn commenced.

Six times this time.
My own face was distorted
In depths of the glass door
In front of the clock’s face.
The clock’s face now had my eyes
In addition to my hands, my fingers,
My pulse.

Try as I did to look away,
My eyes would not leave my eyes,
My ugliness on a canvas for all
And none
To see.

dong
dong
dong
dong
dong

The light had long since waned into
Evening.
The only color I could see in the reflection
Of the clock’s face was
Grey.

All color was departed from the world,
But not from my body, my soul.
The purple of my calmness,
The blue of my despair,
The red of my frustration,
And the bitter black of my fear
Made my corpse glow brightly dark
In the gloom of my living room, my dying room.



dong dong dong dong
I could sense the hastening of the clock’s own doom.

Hours, minutes, years ago I spoke of manipulation,
The sensation had subsided till now.
I could feel the marionette wires
Tugging at my mind, my heart strings.

I could almost feel my body rising,
Floating away from the stillness,
The hastening repetition.

I saw myself staring into the clock.
I was suspended, no longer quadriplegic.
I passed my hand in front my eyes,
My eyes, no longer the clock’s,
And saw that it seemed to flicker,
Going and coming, in perfect
Synchronicity with the ticking.
A translucent smoke emanated
From every inch of my…
Body?

dongdongdong

Quicker now, ever quickening.

I could see my remains shuddering,
In harmony with the ticking of the clock.

The wires were tangible now,
I could see them protruding from the lifeless vessel.
They glistened in the greyness,
But down close to my cadaver, they glowed,
They glowed in unison with my emotions,
Purple, blue,
Red, black,
They all combined to one,
But each was still perfectly visible,
Distinguishable.

I watched on with a dumb mix of awe,
Concern,
And fear.

dondogng
The chimes were so close that they were blending together.

I could feel my suspended specter drifting apart.
I could see my limp body convulsing wildly,
The wires pulled taut, pulling it up out of the confines of the staring clock.
The color was drained from it now, completely white.

I looked on in dismay,
I watched my corpse dance, dance like the marionette that it was.
It danced frantically, with a strange air of anticipation,
It danced towards the clock-tower,
Its eyes still fixated on the eyes in the reflection in the glass.
It moved closer and closer still,
Still moving in unison with the pulsing,
Closer and closer.
All of a sudden, with a rapid forward snap of its neck,
Hard enough for me the bones fracturing from my high vista,
It shattered the glass door with its face,
Liberating itself from the death gaze of its own eyes,
Of the clock’s eyes.

Donnng
This one much louder than all of the ones before,
It sustained for what seemed like hours.
Or seconds.

My specter was now just a small, smoking orb,
And I could still see, though my eyes had departed me.

I could see the shattered glass on the floor,
And I saw, in two perfectly positioned shards,
The clock’s somber grey eyes staring at me,
Through me, for hours, days, years.


The body danced crazily outside,
Its head dropped back limply,
Staring straight up at the sky.
It made eye contact with the full moon,
And danced wildly toward it, with ill, lunatic intent.
9/18/09
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Last edited by infinitee; 03-19-2009 at 12:49 PM..
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Old 05-12-2009, 12:53 PM   #2
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

*bump*

id really some feedback on this.

i did a whole revision and lost it cuzza my stupid ass flashdrive, but oh well
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Old 05-13-2009, 06:49 PM   #3
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

wow
now I hate clocks
thanks for that long
but very good piece
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Old 05-14-2009, 11:40 AM   #4
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

lol. i was told by my teacher and one of my classmates that it reminded them of E. Allen Poe. I wouldn't go that far, but i still like it
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Old 05-16-2009, 08:16 PM   #5
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

Is that what you were going for?
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Old 05-16-2009, 08:20 PM   #6
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

i dont mind the length, adds to the flare of the countdown. its worth the read. i respect that you can keep a thought and plot going that long while maintaining some sort of flow. i liked what you did with colour. made the entire thing pretty visable.

"the face was cream with
Gold Roman numerals"

love how that line floats off the tongue.

its hard to be specific with such a long piece, but i did enjoy it as i do most of your efforts. keep it up, man.
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Dissolving and reforming so quickly I seem only to flicker.
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Old 05-17-2009, 08:20 AM   #7
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

Quote:
Originally Posted by ColdLogic View Post
Is that what you were going for?
being Edgar Allen Poeish?
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Old 05-17-2009, 08:27 AM   #8
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

all of this positive feedback is very appreciated.

I've come a long way since my first poem/song that i posted on here. i looked back at that last night and was really embarassed at how shitty it was. all of the feedback ive gotten from you guys over the years keeps me going because i know that compliments on this forum do not come easily from most.
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Old 05-17-2009, 08:06 PM   #9
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

really like the way you build up the suspense. also enjoyed the somewhat harsh tone that it holds
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Old 05-21-2009, 07:03 PM   #10
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Re: Times in a Dark, Dry Age

Quote:
Originally Posted by ObsessiveTendencies View Post
really like the way you build up the suspense. also enjoyed the somewhat harsh tone that it holds
thanks, glad you enjoyed it
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