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Poetry |
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By Julie Rae Rickard |
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Tammy Doesn't Listen to the Clock Anymore |
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By Julie Rae Rickard |
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Tortured by dreams of what was and what has to be |
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She sits silently |
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In her quiet room waiting patiently |
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For destiny to play out whatever game it chooses |
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But when it wins she knows she loses |
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All is not as it seems |
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When you are living it all in a dream |
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For reality and fantasy become tangled |
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While your mind slowly becomes mangled |
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Until even the ticking of the clock is music to your ears |
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Tammy doesn't listen to the clock anymore |
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It's song is too sad |
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And she knows she's been bad |
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Tammy doesn't listen to the clock anymore |
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For when it strikes three |
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There'll be no room you see |
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For her life |
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When you see beyond tomorrow no one listens to your words |
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When you see what others can't they don't care about your world |
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But in a place where no one goes |
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With people no one knows |
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She is what she was meant to be |
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And if no one else can see her |
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That will be all right |
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She can find tomorrow even without the light |
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Delicately the clock strikes two |
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But Tammy doesn't listen to the clock anymore |
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Its song is too sad |
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And she knows she's been bad |
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Tammy doesn't listen to the clock anymore |
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For when it strikes three |
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There'll be no room you see |
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For her life |
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While dancing in her head and sleeping on the floor |
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Tammy know what she came here for |
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With no one here to comfort or care |
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She does what others wouldn't dare |
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She reaches out to touch her life |
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This life she loved but never knew |
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Means more to her than me or you |
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With a gentle motion she thrusts the knife |
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Ending quickly her "real life" |
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While in the corner the clock ticks |
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Ticks away with meaningless time |
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Until at three it begins to chime |
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But Tammy doesn't listen to the clock anymore |
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Its song is too sad |
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And she knows she's been had |
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Tammy doesn't listen to the clock anymore |
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But when it struck three |
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She was totally free |
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And alive |
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Ó1983, Julie Rae Rickard |
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Tree of life |
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By Julie Rae Rickard |
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Tree of me |
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Tree of life |
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Tree I see |
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Tree-symbol of my strife |
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Which branch do I take |
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On which branch should I travel |
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Forward on, forward back |
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Slowly or quickly |
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Up or down |
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Left or right |
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Direction has no meaning |
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When one is on a branch |
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For no matter which way is chosen |
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The tree is still the same |
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Ó1988, Julie Rae Rickard |
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