3 result(s) for Poems About Waiting To Hear From You Again.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
The Slow Hand
The kettle sighs, the lamp stays low,
and every tick becomes a stone
I carry up the stairs alone,
waiting for a word from you to show.
The clock keeps time with stubborn grace,
each second pressing, thin and bright,
as shadows lengthen, pale and slight,
across the room, across the space.
I tell myself the hours are kind,
that silence is a gentle thing,
but still I reach for the phone's cold ring
and find the room still, unresigned.
So here I sit, my patience worn,
the hands go round, the light grows gray,
and I keep watch until the day
brings back the voice I've waited on.
Every Ring Is the Wind
The phone sits on the table like a stone,
its silence heavy as a thing unspoken.
I keep it close, the way one keeps a bone
that holds the last warmth of a token.
A chime slips through the window glass,
and every nerve leans forward, quick and bright.
I rise, I reach, I hold my breath to pass
the moment where your name might come in light.
But it is only wind, tapping at the sill,
a restless hand that means no harm,
rattling the chimes that hang there still
as if they, too, were waiting for a charm.
So I sit down, and let the evening fold,
and learn again that hope is a patient thing.
The wind keeps ringing what it cannot hold,
and still I listen, as if it might bring
your voice across the dark, unbroken, near,
until the night grows quiet, and I hear
only the wind, and wait a little longer here.
The Silent Glow
I check the screen once more tonight,
the glow of nothing, pale and bright.
The inbox sits in empty space,
a hollow room, a silent place.
I hear the echoes of my call,
bouncing off each dormant wall.
Each refresh gives a fleeting hope,
then fades like smoke on a windless slope.
The clock ticks slow, the hours drag,
my thoughts drift back to every tag
of words we shared before the quiet fell,
and wonder if they still can tell.
So I will wait, though night grows deep,
and keep the light of hope to keep.
For somewhere, past the dark and still,
your name may light the screen at will.
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