The Clock Ticks On

The clock ticks on

While my soul bleeds slowly

And the aching of my empty arms

Cries softly, like a child in the night

I examine the hole in my Self

That remains where once a baby smiled at me amidst diapers and worries

And long sleepless nights

That then were spent in caring

But now are spent in silent dry tears

Listening

As the clock ticks on

© 2000 by Kathleen P. Leach.