23. Bell Tower

The people here have no sense

Of time, only the seasons, the days,

And so they look to the bell tower,

More precise than the sun’s fickle rays

  

But though this takes away

Their reliance on cloudless days,

It makes them depend on others,

More human than the sun’s distant rays

  

So the sundial is hidden somewhere

In the garden of my past,

And I listen now for the tolling

Of bells that account for time passed

 

And, I know, there’s someone up there

Ringing the great bronze domes,

But I also know, that someone

May have a mind that wanders and roams

 

So why do I trust

That the bells are right?

I have nothing else;

Here, it’s all black and white,

And I can't trust the day,

And I can't trust the night

The End

75 comments about this poem Feed