A bruised sky spread before me,
speckled with clouds, flickers of dusk.
The tick tock of my clock reassures me,
but at the same time, I fear it.
It is beautiful, though.
Golden scrolls kindle around her face, alive and dancing.
Behind her lies guarding flowers – armouring her from evil’s eye.
Celestial oak holds up the timepiece, like my faith – never letting it break.
Still, I fear it.
Thick coats of clouds hang in the dark distance, reminding me of the
little time I have to find a path – a path out of the towering mountains,
a path to a new home.
Tick, tock… A wave of uncertainty washes over me,
drowning me in its dominion and sovereignty.
I cannot go back, I will not go back. I have nothing left.
All I have is my clock – awakening my anxiety once again.
The sun rises drowsily, divergent to the race within my mind.
The race for happiness, for home.
I hold my clock, the sounds of its heavy mechanisms turn like a page,
telling me it is time. Time to drown away uncertainty in its own waters.
Time for hope.
The clock that used to spark fear within me
has now unleashed a new form,
morphing into something of an essence…
A new hour. A new beginning.
~ Mehansa, year 9, St Dominic’s Priory College
Thomas Tompion, 1639 – 1713, Britain. Art Gallery of South Australia