The Liminal Age

Waiting for the afternoon chimes,
As time half ticks but never quite tocks.
These are the purgatorial times.

What is there to do as playtime resigns?
Progress is halted by mental blocks
As you wait for the afternoon chimes.

Is there a need to take a step back sometimes?
Away from that dreaded ballot box,
For these are the purgatorial times.

Time to pop open this bottle of ’46 what?
Looking down at my socks, thinking
These are the purgatorial times.

Another three hundred and sixty-four days to climb.
Though it gets smaller, tougher ‘tis to ‘scape this box.
So you wait for the afternoon chimes.

Now with your blossomed spine
Be strong and loose these locks
As you wait for the afternoon chimes.

Is that another speeding fine?
Travelling towards experience
As you wait for the afternoon chimes.
These are the purgatorial times.

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