I have read, in various places, writers that compare time to a river or a stream; something flowing. Occasionally, there is a reference to the beginning or the end of time. It is compared to sunrise and sunset, birth and death... but always flowing. In truth, it is not that way here in this invocation. Here, time presents itself as a moment; a hard-rock candy that, melting slowly upon the tongue, flavors life and being with a gentle, mournful call for companionship. A heart bared in yearning for one that can share a view of eternity that is at once both blissful and frames prayer as recognition of the unknown and unknowable. If time could speak, what might it say? Could it explain to one caught so fully in it's grasp the true nature of immortality? What words could it use that might lift a silent soulful voice toward a heaven'd sky; where longing and loneliness have no place in the lexicon of that existence? The questions remain. The lessons continue... abide with me.
Posted 11 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
11 Years Ago
your reivew is such a lovely poem . . . thank you for gracing me this morning :)
11 Years Ago
It was/is a great poem, Emily. Say, is this a form of synergy? :)
i hope so, it always makes my day brighter to be an inspiration
11 Years Ago
Hum it with me... "Walk on the sunny side..."; don't worry, you are. :D
[REF: http://www.youtu.. read moreHum it with me... "Walk on the sunny side..."; don't worry, you are. :D
[REF: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy1eOLEiyFY]
i have the flu. reading this connects me to all of you on this site feel the love (or it could be the thera flu working) no, the love, definatly. i need my poets every morning at 5:30 I wake up and get my cheerios and tune in to this wonderful world where we really do communicate, our world of poets rising above the mundane, connecting to each other....reallly ...think about it
Still love this write, thought I had left a word on it but I hadnt... Soooo
yes very nice write, couldnt really tell you in which way its on of those writes thats hard to forget, it just is, and there arnt many of those around. Small or tall.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..