Saturday, July 11, 2020

Two Poem Drafts


The world is waiting; I'm at home;
through endless hours, I am alone;
but all my thoughts are in the sky
where sings the sun its songs of light,
and there my soul will gently float
above great lands no man has known
as I am holding one simple truth,
that I am waiting for you.

When evening shadows grow long and dark
there shines within one blazing star;
the sun's light fades and day will pass,
but I remain and I will last
for my eye seeks the distant line
to find the one I have in mind --
and so I look, with hope imbued:
for I am waiting for you.

Present Tense

the present is not an instant
but a blur
not a note but a whir
not near but ever distant
and something we defer

when we are future
it is past
on it runs

when we are passing
it will last
it is mere portent
when we endure

all unstable
ever sure
and in the doing it is done