The 11th Hour (Last poem for 2015)

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Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock
Run at a decent pace and lose not your grip
Keep your eyes awake and give it not sleep
For the enraptured hour has come
Like a demon with a glass of rum.

Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock
Bask not on the beach of failure
For this hour comes not as a saviour
But as a dagger digging through the dungeon of determination
And of the rekindled notions of inebriation.
Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock
The flippery flip of flipping time
Jerked over the shoulders of riveting mime
Towards the seconds of rarefied act
Exerted by the fulfillment pact.
Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock
The hour when choice making gets a boast
And indecision get a roast.
The hour when brain rasps out thoughts
Like the fire that heats the pot.
Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock
Let your facade of success be concealed
From the deceitful enemies on field
Ready to rain torments like the dew
With his authority on pew.
Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock
Broaden your reasoning beyond time’s comfort
Dispel your thoughts above odds and start onward
Keep your eyes on the prize and lose no focus
And you’ll be surprised your name will spread like staphylococcus.


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