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Poem: The Watch


Watches speak

They tell us of ends and beginnings

They help us feel the

Ticking murmurs of inevitability

Approaching both infinitely quickly

And painfully slow

They look aesthetically pleasing

And weigh down wrists

Just enough to make themselves essential

So you feel naked

When you find yourself without it

Sometimes you have to wonder

Whether life would be better

If moments were moments

Instead of numbers on a wrist.

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