Abhayplip plop
the sound of a multitude
of falling rain drops
tick tock
the sound of inevitability
in the hands of a clock
a cacophony
so maddeningly unpredictable
with ebbs and flows
a march
step after unflinching step
it never ceases to grow
unsettlingly steady
drowning out everything with a beat
while the unsteady drops
count down the nights retreat
tick plop
the blending almost purposeful
as if to mock
plip tock
wishing so desperately
for a momentary stop
