This poem was the result...
I’ve never been a rebel
The very thought exhausts me
Makes me want to hide my face in my pillow
Regulating my life to a clock
The clock brings order to an already chaotic existence
Filled with rudeness and noise on better days
A despairing sense of futility as well
Children screaming out their joy
Never caring their cries piece my ears
Round and round humanity goes
Caught in the same patterns, the same traps
Sometimes the patterns are beautiful
Sometimes they surprise me
Sometimes the clock itself is a joy to behold
Wonders popping out behind the face
Tiny figures moving in an orchestrated dance
The charm is in the orchestration
There’s no point in messing up the dance
Only one can feel so sluggish, so tired
Continuing to move the same moves
Perhaps one small moment of defiance
A single rebellious action might enliven me
Drawing out some of the despair
Threatening to eat away at the comfort of ritual.
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