APROXM: POETRY

THERE IS TIME TO HATE

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THERE IS TIME TO HATE

WATCHES TIIIIIIIICK AND TICK AND TICK

I'M BARELY BOTHERED: NO, I RELISH IT

I LOVE IT; I LOVE THE TICK

BUT THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT

THIS IS THE TIME FOR A MAJOR SPAT

A FOOLISH RAGE BURNS IN THEIR HEARTS

THEY'RE INNOCENT IN THEIR REMARKS

OR THEY BELIEVE IT SO. I DON'T BELIEVE THEM, THOUGH

THEIR WATCHES TIIIIIIIICK AND TICK AND TICK

AND THEIR COUNTENANCES MATCH THE RHYTHM OF IT

THEIR BEARDS SCULPT OUT THE NUMBERS

SEPARATED EVERY FIVE,

DESPERATELY ALIVE,

DESPERATE TO REMIND OF THE LIVES THEY LIVE UP HIGH

BUT I'VE READ THEIR FACES ENOUGH,

TO KNOW THEY'RE NOT MADE OF THE TICKING STUFF

THEY MIGHT SHOW IT ON THEIR FACES,

BUT THEIR MINDS FROM PUTTY IN STASIS

ARE FORMED TO HATE ME,

FORMED TO NOT THINK OF ME

FORMED WITHOUT FORETHOUGHT

WITHOUT KNOWING THEY'D BE SAUGHT

FOR THEIR WATCHES THAT TIIIIIIIICK AND TICK AND TICK

FOR THEIR FACES OF BEARDS GROWN MUCH TOO THICK

FOR I AM THE WATCHMAKER

AND IT'S THE TICKING THAT I COMMIT

TO FIXING UP THE HANDS THAT HIT

SEPARATED BY FIVE

WHILE I STRUGGLE TO STAY

DESPERATELY ALIVE

WHILE THEY STRUGGLE TO BURY ME

REJECTED AND DEPRIVED

BUT I'M BARELY BOTHERED: NO, I RELISH IT

I LOVE THE CLOTH WE'RE CUT FROM

THE FOLDS IN THE PLAIN FACES OF

THOSE CUT FROM THE STUFF

THOSE WHO URGE TO BE TOUGH

ON THE LIKES OF ME

FOR I AM THE WATCHMAKER

FORMED FROM HATE

FOR I AM THEIR SAVIOR

FOUR, FIVE; SIX, EIGHT

THEIR FACES FIXED

BUT THEIR FACES TWIST

TO CONVEY A FOOLISH RAGE

IN THE BODIES THAT NEVER AGE

BORNE FROM CRYO-STASIS

"BUT WHAT OF WHAT THE STATE SAYS?"

MY VOICE MATTERS LESS

FOR I AM THE WATCHMAKER

AND THIS IS THEIR TIME TO HATE

MY SERVICES, THEY GLEEFULLY RATE

MY SERVICE, THEY GLEEFULLY TAKE

MY SERVILE, FORMED BRAIN

PUTTY TO MAKE ME LAME

PUTTY FORMED BY THE STATE

BUT I'M BARELY BOTHERED; NO, REALLY, I RELISH IT

I LOVE THE FOOL THAT FINDS ME

I LOVE THE FACE THEY WEAR

"I DON'T MEAN ANYTHING BY IT, I SWEAR,

YOUR WATCH I'LL WATCH UNDER MY CARE."

WATCHING THE TIIIIIIIICK AND TICK AND TICK

OF A BEWILDERED, IVORY STARE

OF A NOTE TO SELF FOR LATER

I LOVE IT; I LOVE THE TICK

BUT THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT

THIS IS THE TIME FOR A MAJOR SPAT

A FOOLISH RAGE IN COLD CAVITIES

REMIND ME WHERE THEY'RE SAT

HIGHER THAN I BUT JUST WITHIN REACH

OF THE WATCHMAKER (THAT WHO IS ME)

DESPERATELY ALIVE

DESPERATE TO TRY

TO FEEL THE FUR ON THEIR FACES

AND RIP OFF THE SEVENS AND EIGHTS

AND BECOME THE HANDS THAT HIT

‘TILL THEY SCREAM "SIX, SIX, SIX!"

BUT REALITY SEES ME SUBMIT

FORMED SERVILE, I AM NOT WITH

THOSE WHO WILL LEAD THE SPAT

THOSE WHO WILL ATTACK

FOR I AM JUST THE WATCHMAKER

AND ALL I AM IS THAT.

THERE IS TIME TO HATE

BUT FORGIVE ME

FOR I WILL BE SURELY LATE.