A Guilded View

Hung from a jail of wire and nail I long for her to see,

the sweet confection that is her reflection

hidden inside of me.

But instead she flashes, right past she dashes, always on the run;

with manic insanity, no time for vanity

leaving me broken, and shunned.

Neverminding loneliness, never finding comeliness, crucified, and alone,

with views unchanged, and frames deranged

I longed for a face of my own.

Until one day, to my dismay, she flew past once again;

just to open the door, and rock my world

when she let in the Amazon man.

The box he brought, a gift she’d bought, herself reflected in me;

filling my view, when she hung it and screwed

it uptight with a golden key.

For there on the wall, right across the hall, she’s put up a cuckoo clock,

whose handsome face in it’s walnut case

ceaselessly ticks and tocks.

With nothing to gain, this clock entertains me, twenty-four and seven.

It‘s rocking and rolling, it’s tocking and tolling,

turned this hell-of-a-hallway to heaven.

Never now boring, the minutes affording, the hours the time to make days,

with springs a-worming, and gears a-turning;

a salve to my unflinching gaze.

Time now is cheap as this gaudy timepiece, whistles, whiles and works.

It’s pendulum swaying, it’s pennants waving

as the birdie twirls and twerks.

And I’d love to believe that what the clock sees in return is my guilded pelf,

my golden frame, my shining mane,

but the shame is...

it’s seeing itself.