Published July 7, 2011
Why count the hours, the minutes?
Moments,
(Sometimes blurry, Sometimes pure)
Consume your life at most.
Time is merely a number
Ticking away from grasp;
The moments last.
That is why
She lives off
Every firework blasting,
Every concert raving,
Every moment he was left behind
In the dust.
For,
When he shall return to her,
That moment
May surpass the countdown
That aged a lover's locket
Copper to the touch.
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141,751 Literary Works • 675,680 Reviews
Hey! Well I LOVED the beginning of this poem. You wrote a little older then most recent poetry. Your style was very pretty, and I liked the words you chose. Somehow it feels like you just shoved the guy in there. I did like the beginning though.
PM me if I have any questions.
-Boo
Wow, this was very very good! Ehh...it's late at night, my mind is fried. Can't really say more than it's super good! The description was cool and kept me going (even as sleep threatened to overcome me. You know...not cuz it was boring just cuz I'm soooo tired...). Anyway, loved it!.
Wow, this poem is really true to life in some aspects. I love the imagery you used and I think that it was really well written. My only improvement would be where it says
I think the "that is why" should be the start of a new stanza perhaps and also
The "for" should be the start of a new one. It just breaks it down a bit more and is easier to take in :]
Apart from this I loved your poetry and I hope you continue to write such fantastic stuff