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Running Slow
by Matthew ZangenHold on for me these hesitant bells,
their burden of hours, bent in place
like little doubts dusted in flame.
We were plucked from bed without names
by a clamor of days
that never needed us to notice them.
There is no staying
in this whirl of stars.
We can't wait long enough
to find ourselves where we were.
We aren't so patient
not to recognize who we are
holding all this time for.
11/21/2019 Posted on 11/21/2019
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 12/07/19 at 05:44 PM Oh man! You took me on a journey with this piece. Back to when I was born in our Lady of the Lake hospital in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. As an infant as soon as we are born we start experiencing "the clamor of days" - what a great phrase! A couple of lines I loved are: "...bent in place /
like little doubts dusted in flame" You challenge the imagination, Matthew. I like that. Thanks for this gift from your creative heart. |
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