TICK TOCK Tick tock ? Clock.Who will remember theHistory Dickory Dock?Who will speak for,The Rights of the Dead?And the treatment,We now know as “Shock”.
The first toy that I remember, was a clock.I vaguely remember the numbers being removableAnd the hands being movableAnd how much, I loved that clock.I remember not understanding,How that clock wasn't mine.Well; It was, but only for a time.It belonged to my sister.I believe, that clock,Was the stop-watch for emotion's crime.It was there at the Consciousness Starting Line. No “ready; set”,Just a silent push of the buttonAnd an unbridled (yes we still ride horses) explosion,Of Frustration, Anger, Resentment, Sorrow, upon its takingAnd Joy, then Guilt, on its return.I spoke to one of my Grandsons, the other day.He confirmed my suspicions.The Children at his school are not taught how to read,An Analogue Clock. Nobody knew the word “Analogue” until the Digital world was born.And soon, nobody will know that word, all over again.It will be buried somewhere, in the History Books,Referred to, only by Academics.Cultures change, Religions (don't get me started),Rights change, people change.People change 'till they're dead.They even change after they're dead.I'm not speaking in a macabre sense; but in a memory senseThe Dead live only in History's page,In Memoires, Data banks