Long Waits Poems
Long Waits Poems. Below are the most popular long Waits by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Waits poems by poem length and keyword.
Time is fading away
Time is ticking away from this life;
I can see you getting older before my eyes.
The sun is dying.
What will become of the light that you always shine?
Age waits for no man
And it has overtaken me.
What will become of the lives that we lead?
Winter is coming to take away all other seasons.
Day after day, the years are fading out of existence.
We drifted until now, ignoring the storms that howl behind us.
In a world that is meant to be so joyful,
We are running out of love…
Love always seemed to be in abundance,
But now it is rare to find love;
All that everybody really needs, is love,
Because love makes us happy.
I never did all I could for you
And now I am truly sorry.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Still, love keeps walking barefoot, though the sky is in shreds,
and the baker swears softly while counting his breads,
though the dogs in the square bark at storms in their dreams,
and the saints in the church spill their wine into streams.
The moon, like a coin someone lost in the hay,
is rolling through puddles at the end of the day.
A drunk in the tavern recites without end
that God’s just a neighbor you greet like a friend.
Still, love keeps walking barefoot: crooked, stubborn, alive,
with pockets of matches that never ignite,
with songs in its mouth that can barely survive,
but sing in the dark like a ship without sight.
It waits at the corner where rain starts to pray,
it hides in a teacup forgotten all day,
and no emperor’s map, and no scholar’s decree
can tell where it starts, or why it chose me.
You entered my room a long time ago
across the dry landscape of many summers
now when this winter looms over the trees
shedding the wilted leaves
you are by the closed window
leaning on the cold wall
and I am by the fireplace
your eyes on the cracking wood on fire
mine on the frosted window pane
freezing my mental agony.
Have you ever wondered
why my voice doesn’t reach you
the words crash on the wall
and fall silent, that’s why
have you ever wondered
why my warmth doesn’t touch you
the feelings brush the window pane
and congeal inert, that’s why
have you ever wondered why
my eyes don’t look into yours
the vision is stuck on the bare trees outside
and waits for the spring, that’s why
have you ever wondered why
my hands can’t hold yours
the reach is lost in desolate time
and breaks separated, that’s why.
I have wondered if I could break the cold wall
shatter the iced window pane
make the trees green again
would my voice rise from the dust
would the warmth of my mind melt the ice
and my eyes bring the colors of spring in yours,
would the flow of time stop
stop to create the stretching distance
and I could hold your hands again.
I know my Damsel waits for me
Perhaps chained to some balcony
If I could only find the Key
I could set her free
The castle walls are high, I hear
Guarded by some guys, I fear
How to get inside's unclear
Planning this could take a year
This castle might just have a moat
I have no money for a boat
I can not swim, not even float
Boy, this gets my goat !
And in the moat, may dwell a fish
That thinks that I'm a tasty dish
It's not wise to take such risk
A thought, I really must dismiss
And if I got inside the gate
A dragon there, must surely wait
And eagerly anticipate
To meet with me and seal my fate
On second thought, I think I'll stay
On bended knee, I'll hope and pray
That eventually I'll find a way
And rescue her some other day
A card is an origami of the cosmos,
a square of twilight folded twice,
and folded paper breathes with hidden life.
It is a tiny, quiet theater
where the heart’s unspooled desires
perform a silent, glowing waltz.
We press our love into the pulp of trees,
capturing the soul’s geometry—
a constellation of unspoken things.
The envelope, a vessel of crisp white frost,
guards the fragile alchemy within:
a drop of captured sun,
a winter’s thaw,
a map to where the lonely find a shore.
Open the gatefold,
and watch the topography of care unfold.
Here, embossed forget-me-nots bloom in neon frost:
And velvet ribbons tie the loose ends of a quarrel
into bows of shimmering, impossible light.
The words are not just manufactured rhyme,
but chronometers of grace,
designed to stall the marching hands of time
upon a loved one’s face.
Within the matte embrace of vellum,
a mother’s unsaid courage drips like honey,
a father’s pride stands rooted like an ancient oak,
and friendships that have weathered bitter storms
are poured like stardust into handwritten ink.
These are holograms of memory,
projecting laughter over oceans,
casting warmth into the coldest, darkest rooms.
It waits patiently in the mailbox
to bloom again in the garden of another day.
To give a card is to offer a piece of your own chest,
a paper lantern released into the dark,
a folded sanctuary where the soul can rest.
It tells the receiver: You are seen. You are held.
Even when the physical miles divide us,
our spirits are forever intertwined,
within the beautiful, surreal origami of humankind.
A buffoon for a leader
Gauche, socially inept
Waves his arms around trying to find words
In his limited vocabulary
A little yellow man waits, with a war head,
To blow the west coast into the sea
The Russian bear awakes from a
decades long sleep
Sniffs around the buffoon and his
weak spots
Where to strike first?
Muslim street gangs live to destroy the fat, over-indulgent, rich country and the infidels
A country of immigrants lock its doors
Go from house to house, plucking out the illegals, leaving families decimated
Has Hitler finally reincarnated?
Meanwhile the planet warms so that one can hardly recognize it
Dear Hank,
Nothing new here
Since you've left,
The soil still bears your footprints,
In the yard with the old oak tree outside.
Since you've left,
The tap still drips in the sink,
As if paused mid-turn.
Since you've left,
The cushions in the sofa lay haphazard,
Waiting to make space for you again.
Since you've left,
The vendor waits an extra minute,
While passing by the house.
Since you've left,
The old neighbour still looks over my shoulder,
When he sees me approach.
Since you've left,
Lullabies don't sit on the tongue,
With the same familiarity as they used to.
Since you've left,
Toddlers have stopped gazing at the world,
With the same wonder and awe.
Since you've left,
The lady down the road missed a loop,
While knitting the sweater for her youngest.
Since you've left,
The willow droops lower,
Despite the early spring.
Since you've left,
Hope has become helpless,
And anticipation reconciled with dread.
Since you've left,
The moon has ceased to rouse poetry,
While its blemishes have taken up the words and the ink.
The sun does not shine every day.
Storms gather without warning,
and there are nights when the road disappears,
when loneliness rides beside you
and darkness feels endless.
But I will not let it take me.
I have driven long roads
where progress feels invisible,
where the engine strains
and the distance refuses to close.
The highway stretches on,
silent and unforgiving.
You cannot stop there.
You cannot turn back.
You may pull over.
You may breathe.
You may rest your hands
against the wheel of a tired life.
But when the car breaks down,
you still have a road ahead.
So you step out into the storm.
You walk.
Even when the wind pushes back.
Even when the night offers no light.
You keep moving.
Because will is stronger than comfort,
and something inside refuses to surrender.
Behind you lies everything
that tried to hold you still.
Ahead of you waits the horizon
distant, quiet, calling your name.
My feet ache.
My hands ache.
My eyes burn from the long road.
The pain is real.
The hunger is real.
So are the things beyond my control.
Still, I walk.
I stay calm.
I learn the next step
before I take it.
For myself.
For my family.
I will walk through hell if I must,
because I can see it now
far beyond the storm,
where the road meets the light,
and the journey finally becomes
something worth all this distance.
WHAT IF
What if my sandy mind dries in desert
Dreaming clouds of parched passion don’t come low
Make your soft shadow overcast my heart
My horizon waits for south wind to blow
Bring from sly sky your mystique clouds below
In storm surge desire in desert would flow.
What if you’re a tree in the fawn forest
Branches taking to the bleached sky your green
For a while in the shade I want to rest
See the crown play with sun I haven’t seen
Hear the song the leaves sing with drops of rain
Reach deep in your grace where I haven’t been.
What if river in my valley gets lost
The flowers dry on the land turned fallow
I’d preserve some, the ones you like the most
In my wasteland green hopes would again grow
When the rains would bring you through the rainbow
Flowers would embrace you, it’s me you’d know.
What if my world breaks, collapses inside
In your heart I’d find a place to reside.
January 25, 2018.
In a small dining room enclosed by three walls, a setting for two. Two candles across from each other lit cast shadows on the ceiling above the crystal chandelier. The round maple table- mirrors and reflects two tall wine glasses half filled with pink Champaign. On folded pink colored napkins three tine forks paired with matching gold handled knives compliment the candle holders. two pure white porcelain plates with saucers with gold trim shine. In the background on the center white wall, a black framed painting of autumn trees sits rectangular. To the left and right are two pedestals each with a bouquet of red roses resting atop. To the wall on the right a curio filled with Swarovski-"Wonders of the sea" Chrystal figures. To the wall on the left a roman numeral oval shaped clock with the time showing 4:45 pm. In the middle of the table is a small roasted turkey. Cranberries, potatoes and stuffing all in separate matching gold trimmed bowls 'round the turkey. On the dark oak floor, in the middle of the two chairs a golden retriever waits patiently.
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