Time ebbs, leaving the past behind,
as the falling tide leaves an empty beach.
Only our crumbling relics remain,
those moments, now sea-changed, when hope
and intention might have coalesced.
Or should I change
the metaphor? Time is a ravening demon,
it swallows all in its indifferently rapacious
maw. It leaves no trace
of images and dreams once close encased
in the brittle, discarded skull.
Time has fullness, when its harvests
are ripe, yet always plenty decays,
the mighty sun gutters, all that
remains is endless night.
















Critiques
passing stanza. If that was the effect you were attempting to
create I applaud you. The imagery as well, especially in the first
stanza, was pretty magnificent.
You did well to compare time with the sea and the ebbing tide.
It really stuck with me. In the second stanza we get a less than
calm view of time, this time it's really a more morbid depiction.
I am still undecided as to which I like better. Both descriptions
are good in their own way.
In this poem, I sense resentment for that intangible time. I
suppose everyone comes to resent time at one time or
another, so it is a poem that most can relate to--however
subconsciously that might be. All in all, a wonderfully written
poem.
Previous PageNext PageThank you for your Critique
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