THE CLOCK ON THE WALL
Loneliness if a feeling that is so hard to explain
Unless you are lonely too you can't understand the pain.
It's the sound on the wall of my old kitchen clock
as it counts the seconds with a loud tic-tic-toc.
It's red like the colour of my eyes that have cried
For my friend and my lover and husband who died
In the dead of the night it's the thud of my heart
When a nightmare or noise makes me with a start,
And a try to reach out but no-one is there
No comforting hand to show that they care.
It's aching, heart-breaking and terribly cruel,
It smothers me slowly, makes me feel a fool.
Living along, I sometimes play games,
talking to photos in cold picture frames,
or keeping the radio tuned to a voice
just to create a semblance of noise,
desperately waiting for someone to call
as I sit and listen to the clock on the wall.