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​Bound by its strictures
as it marks my
steady declension,
measuring out my life
with singular beats.
I am moved
by unseen
wheels and gears
driven by the bellows.
With a hand to my face,
the second hand sweeps
inexorably,
and I wind down
more quickly
when I am wound
too tight.
Powered by divinity,
but with an
expiration date.
~
M. Zane McClellan
~
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All rights reserved

The Daily Post prompt: Clock

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