The hands on the clock move in only one direction.
The Balance - a 20-line poem with an ebb-and-flow rhythm and a closing refrain
We gathered together to wait out the storm, certain of its coming, unsure of its effect.
As bright as day you led the way— My path, your spark, found in the dark....
...and we strain our eyes to see some more, always looking—and counting, counting...
But he left me standing there alone, for he knows not how to wait.
Time moves far too slowly. Oh, how much I miss you!
Learning to fly takes time and a letting go of fear.
Preview of the Miniature poetry form for tomorrow's challenge
Dear Father, You have been silent for so long. I ask not “Why?” but “What?”