Sometimes the old clock ticks so loud
It sends down a haunting shiver
The old lady stands beneath the dark skies
And nobody comes near her
Except for black birds looking out for
A safer place to rest
And when the wasting has been done
Fly to where they’re loved best
…
Hear the street-lights beckoning
As day slowly turns to night
Not too far away from the school
Folks close their eyes to light
Then the weapon in her hand
Will be of no further use
Across the barren, wild, wild land
Where it’s not so difficult to choose
…
The wicked rivers have lost their flow
Fools have learnt what wise men know
The golden sun has lost its glow
While the winds have forgotten how to blow
Nothing seems to matter now
The old clock keeps ticking on
Nothing seems to bother now
The old lady watches on
Frank Solanki 
As I read this poem, I kept thinking to myself that this could be in the next big horror movie. I like the creepy feeling I got as I read this. It gave me goosebumps, literally. Frank, I just saw that you liked my new post, “Looking forward” and it made me feel good about myself so I wanted to return the favor and follow a new person interested in my blog. Keep in touch and keep writing! 🙂
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Thanks
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Yes, l do hope that old woman doesn’t come here
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She won’t. For the moment, she’s with me and made of stone
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O, is she a statue in your garden or inside
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Inside…. my head
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safe then don’t let her get any ideas of an alterior motive
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Never
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Really enjoyed reading this, Frank. I’m so glad I stumbled across your blog. Thanks for liking my post (major confidence booster) and looking forward to following you- and vice versus- and your future content. Be well. 🙂
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Thanks a lot
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Reblogged
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