Near the End of a Meeting of the Live Poets Society

A black clock

Was what I saw,

With white numbers

That were really planets,

Which ticked around

The round void.

We saw it all

Upon our wall,

And now we waited

As it commanded.

But one of us wanted

To say one more poem,

Not stopped by the clock,

Though the meeting had ended.

The poem would be sung,

Unafraid of time,

Unabashed, clear,

As it took a ride

On the white numbers

That were actually planets,

Forming a ring

In a void not inimical.

So the song did go down;

The song did go up

On a Ferris Wheel,

Measureless, 

Whose fun stops

Only to fearlessly

Start again--

Its turning renewed,

Slightly improved,

Surprisingly dependable,

Our glee unreproved.

But can a song be free

From clock and void?

Are we allowed to see

Our glee go free?

      © Stephen Margulies, 2018

Eye on the Bay, Bridlington ~ Yorkshire, England
Photo by Paul Glazzard
from the Geograph Project
on Wikimedia Commons