Everything in its precise place
this house feels like a guilty plea
just waiting for a hammer to fall
we shall be taken from here to a place of isolation
suspended in time by a perfectly woven noose of self destruction
All our misdemeanours shall bear witness
in a parade of failure and pitiful bitterness
An internet search will throw up the number
116 123,
“The Book of Job”
too late now the bended Knee
Farewell then it must be, it must be,
death the pendulum that turns the cogs
though even our passing
Won’t stop the clocks.
© Wolfgar 2020
Notes from life 
This needs to be a song.
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“death the pendulum that turns the cogs” 👌🏼
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You’ve run me down a number of rabbit holes, here. While this diverges from your usual style of metered verse, you still tie it all together with some very well placed rhymes with “plea”, “3” and “knee”. You always seem to know where to stitch the wound. About Job. Such unnecessary cruelty. Tortures such as those reveal a weak god, one of such low self-esteem that it must inflict great harm to prop its supremacy. But that is the house “we” built, yes? Guilty as charged. Human as charged. Flawed, frail and hungry. Yes, most certainly, but could there be some other exit than death?
D
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..must be time to revisit old Job )
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A sense of the imperative on whatever level that is – a bigger consideration than the individual as an involved witness who makes a choice that is an inevitability, is what I can say here not knowing the biblical reference nor the film. Excellent and dramatic.
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