Tick Tock

Tick Tock
The gears are turning
Echoes of the eternal sound
It climbs the walls of my mind
Creeps like jungle vines.

Maddening
Forgotten verses
Things are there
And then they're gone.
They don't stay
Not long enough for me to say
"This is right" or "This is wrong"
Only time to think,
"Is this who you really are?"

Most of my words
Never touch my tongue
Much less part my lips.
No, nothing ever makes it there,
But when it does,
This babel is misunderstood and shunned.

Except by one.
There is one who doesn't shun
Or doesn't see a need.
My thoughts are my own,
Not anyone else's to judge or to read.

This makes him that one.
The one I want to know.
I want him to know who I was,
What i thought.
He is what I breathe.
Th clicking of the clock
Never stops, never stops.

This is not love
It's not really need
I don't know what it is,
But it's growing.
One single seed.

One word starts a sentence,
One sentence starts a story,
And a story saves a life.

That cycle paints the props,
And the painting never stops.