The Grandfather

The foregone clock struck,
Taking their lives
With chimed deliverance,

Another hour at least,
Feasting on carrion

Of dead minutes, seconds,
Adagio hands that fall

Through touched souls
Like forgotten bullets
From forepassed guns,

Grandfather stood
Watching it all, unbiased,

But stating their ticking
downpour a crestfallen heart,

Counting up their countdown,
Until only his voice echoed,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…

Poem © Phen Weston 2014

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