This Poem was Submitted By: Janet A. Burg On Date: 2002-12-07 22:04:47 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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The Waiting Time

Overripe pear in a pool of light casts oval shade beside a vase. Small breezes stir white curtains like silent puffs of a child's breath. Dust motes drift, as spiraling dreams rising up from earnest sleep. Across the lobby, facing the door an old man waits. Wisps of his hair  lift in the small wind. Eyes open, he seems to float toward sunlight, as if in its warmth he might melt like wax, unbending his bowed back. He lists toward freedom, sailing on thoughts like loose threads trailing his sleeves; he is nearly finished. Perhaps he previews paradise; for he is free, no longer pinned  by hopes or empty solitude. 

Copyright © December 2002 Janet A. Burg


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