The Ticking Clock It is odd how one ages. One is older but feels no wiser. Now where’s the sense in that? It’s a ticking clock, I’ll say! Like being pushed towards a door, Only to cling to the doorframe in denial. How does one walk through with ease? And to ask yet another, When will growing be a fact of life, Instead of inevitable misery? Is there truly only one way to know what is behind that door? All said and done, No amount of anger, sadness, nostalgia Can stop the ticking clock. I am gone but still here. I am grown but still young. I am older but not wiser. It is odd. Amber Constante
36
