poetry critical

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The Separation of all Time

I’ve driven myself
6,933 miles past crazy,
playing hide and seek
with misplaced insecurities.
Peering out into my future
Myopia prevents me from seeing.
What will be on the other side
Of these 52 weeks?
Seasons unhurriedly changing
Winter pauses, spring breaks
into a hot Californian summer,
Praying my calendar eliminates
September through December,
I’m already past the Fallen stage.
Will love be on the other side
Of these 365 days?
Sonoran, white sands dripping
from a clogged hour glass.
Will the prolonged duration
numb the euphoric sensation
or will faded memories
and subdued desires last.….
Will passion be on the other side
Of these 8760 hours?
Will our hearts and minds
Become unrecognizable faces
Her fingerprints on my body
The only evidence we ever existed
Looking in my direction, staring blankly
Her memory of me painfully diminished
What will be on the other side
Of these 525,600 minutes?
When all is said and done
and I return to my native land
will I be returned my fragile heart,
which I had left in her strong hands
Will it be polished and bright
or dusty, dirty and neglected?
and how will I breathe without it
for 31,536,000 seconds?

5 Oct 16

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 — Asme

Thank you for reading.
 — PaleHorse

The oysters have been shucked from my lungs. I really mean oxygen but who cares, your poem almost cured me of my drowning. I don't know if I should even speak because I'm afraid my words may tarnish this beautful, holy grail of a piece. I know I probably sound dramatic or convoluted and it's a walrus of a reaction, but you get what you get with me.

If this is a prayer I might need it. <3
Well done ponyboy. I absolutely love it. :)
 — jenakajoffer

Thank you for reading and your words, I hope you understand how deeply they resonate with me.
 — PaleHorse

I think I do :)
 — jenakajoffer