Waiting.

Time drags its feet
like an old man
slowly
along the pavement
of my mind.

It walks with
a stagger
as though
intoxicated
and does not
acknowledge my
question  ‘why'?
as

though it hasn't
heard.

It continues
to
plod along
and
I am left longing,
waiting, wanting
for it
to hurry.

It goes
so slowly
as I wait for you,
my love.
Yet, we age
as it passes!

Reviews

[Soren]

A most wonderful metaphor Marie it applies very well in this case, and shows that you have thought it through completely. Old man time is a familiar figure and fits into this poem quite well. Time itself seems to plot along at a snails pace times and as it crosses one’s mind, it seems to stumble. But Conversely, as we age time seems to move faster. A poem worth much deliberation.

[emmajoygreen]

Superbly 'spoken', Marie. You cover a myriad of thoughts and emotions with your words, as always offering that little more.. Such food for thought, dear friend.

'It walks with
a stagger
as though
intoxicated
and does not
acknowledge my
question ‘why'?
as

though it hasn't
heard.'

Is how it is: so much - too much, is deaf to eager 'listeners'

[Einstein Noodle]

interesting bit of irony there, Marie .. i like that bit of turn .. time .. such a magical thing to stand still, minutes seem like hours and flying by .. whoosh! and we are gone .. ;)
E.