Miss Dorothy

[slam poetry essence]

Tick tick tick says the clock,
Your heart stops, the rhythm sick
His shadow looms and crawls and creeps,
The doom seeps from his fingers as it lingers
On the dawn to come and erupting sun
You may run, but he may not
His walk is steady, always ready
He towers, back tall, almost stretching beyond
The realm of vision as you crouch and cower
His movements sweep the earth to keep it grounded.
Click click click go his feet
As they repeat to delete what may have sounded
He ages and withers and devours the hours,
His ravishing eyes sulking and slurping and stealing
As you lay reeling from the potential blow
Of your incapable ceiling;
So as you sit with Dorothy and watch the pieces tumble,
Watch the rumble of your windows as they crack like thunder,
Watch him plunder your walls as they crash to the floor,
Let us open a door and skip upon the yellow of day
Let us kill sir time,
Let us slit his throat and watch
As the minutes pool across the sea below the depths
And let us rejoice as our glowing skin
No longer tugs at the rim, and our limbs
No longer ache at the hug of our bones
For we, and only we, may own the sound of our wristband
As it is placed upon our hand, and our hand upon hip
As we skip upon the brick humming to the tune
Of restless moons and undying days
For we may sit and watch with glee as the sun sets upon the sea,
For we may sit and sit and sit
And as he lays there writhing and whimpering
We may look upon him with a humbling pity,
‘Cause though we see no crumbling,
And though the color of our eyes may see no fade,
And the jade of your iris may see no grey,
There will come a day when you venture further
And the light behind will vanish and stay
And you may miss the way your body and soul
Fit as closely knit as a rabbit and hole
So heed fair caution as you rush to dismay
Sir time and the house that decays
‘Cause you will miss the way your soul and body
Held hands and aged with the dying day