the clock silently ticks
at seventeen
everything was so simplistic
so much promise
of fast cars in polished red and diamonds
entering the springboard of life's thread
ever thrilled at the yellow canarys song
never counted
on those squishy 'fat toads'
that snarled onto dreams
almost sightless
those skips became plods
through clogged up mud
as life metered out more than it should
