The Wait

4 Comments

Poem Commentary

I was just thinking of the many men and women who are still over there in that terrible place, and of all the loved ones waiting for their return.

The Wait

Time passes slow, as we know,

When waiting for ships to come in.

Bringing home the ones who’ve fought

battles of other’s wars.

I see my daughter, my son --

Waving as they brace the rail

Smiling with hurt in their eyes…

from the scars they share.

Walk slowly down the boards

Some with canes --

shielding the pain

that one cannot detect;

In our silks we’re bedecked --

Waiting their return again.

Poem Comments

(4)

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bklynrizz commented on The Wait

03-02-2010

'Bringing home the ones who’ve fought battles of other’s wars.' How true that is. Very well written. It brought to mind how my grandfather carried the horrow of WWI with him for 55 years after the war untill he passed. And to think he suffered, as did many, because a despot with a withered hand wanted to prove to his aristocratic cousins he was not weak.

NevillePark commented on The Wait

02-21-2010

This is a living story. A pleasure to see the pictures unfold. Man you've got a gift. Nothing but more will do as far as I'm concerned.

Charlie23 commented on The Wait

01-27-2010

This is a very well written piece, made me stop to ponder a moment about what they give to us, and the high price it costs their families.

mangeoart

01/28/2010

I'm sure there are a lot of folks out there who feel the same as you, Charlie. Thank you.

Marsink commented on The Wait

01-22-2010

No pun: you really brought the anguish home form far lands to homeland, from the conflict of war, to the touching return of reuniting family and friends for healing words and embraces, long overdue through the ache of time apart. You've written a piece that caresses the heart of many. 10!

mangeoart

01/27/2010

Will the wars never ends ? Thank you Marsink for a thoughtful comment.

Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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mangeoart’s Poems (3)

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