Distanced by dreams,
of yesteryears life,
Days come and go,
like a waves short life.
Hours slip through thoughts,
As sand slips through fingers.
I wish the world would slow.
Time to think and plan for tommorow.
As eyes succumb to the weight of the night,
Morning emerges with it's sharp light.
Days drift into new days,
each one a stage of plays.
There is no time to look and to love,
Faces flash by with eyes to the ground,
I am not hereI make no sound.
This is beautiful Vincent, a lovely poem with lovely flowing lines. A joy to read. Just to mention in the last line, I think hear should be here, just in case it's a mistake, perhaps I am wrong. Not a criticism, just thought I'd mention it. Love Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Vincent, you describe beautifully, just exactly what half the world is doing. drifting, rushing from day to day, with no time for love, but that is because that's what's required by each individual in order to get on through life at that time. imo I refuse to believe there is not a light at the end of every persons tunnel though. 10 from Tai, thanks for sharing.