Clockmaker Poem by M. A Heathcote

In my dreams, I am a clockmaker.
I hold back time and visit the dead.
But the dead are too busy to notice 
I am flesh and blood, and ignore me.

It's a deeply frustrating situation.
To see them and watch them leave
Mingle with others and fade away.
I am left uncertain about
Whether I will dream of them again.

What's more hurtful is how blasé
They turn to go as if I had no meaning.
It's then I wake, alone, feeling empty.
It's then I wish I could turn back time, still further.
To a lifetime lived much earlier.