[untitled]

 

Those waiting eyes

The wait of rain has been soaked in meadows.

The warmth of a fragile hand is still on

The support of the porch. A pair of eyes,

Tired and looking beyond, now is not there.

These paths have not always let men reach their

Chosen destination. The open sun

Is making the earth golden-green. Days pass.

In nights the waiting eyes light out like a

Magic lantern. Waiting keeps age at bay.

Paths send the men awry to some frozen

World of reverse-wait, flying ash and dusk.

The warmth of the hand lingers through the circle

Of life and death, of tides and ebbs. Time flies.

Reviews

[Touché Armada]

How do I say this is lovely with out being so plain? Sometimes I feel so inept when trying to state appreciation. The motion of time in this piece is so back and forth and still and fast until its imaterial.
Very nice writing, but then I dont think I have read a piece you have written that has not been something special.

[Beautifully Tragic xPoe..]

I'm not sure what to say without being so cliche... This seems to me like it is about preserving youth as 'time flies'. This is another great work from you. Excellent job.

[Kasey Klein]

Nicely touched to the paper, my friend!

[alternative_be]

I'm wondering about the first line here: are you waiting for the rain to fall in the soaked meadows, or do you mean the weight of the rain in the soaked meadows... both lines are possible, but give the poem a different twist...
Yet I like the image of the waiting eyes, lighting up in the night, reminiscing about the relativity of time and eternity in an effort to stop time itself and preserving youth.