24 Hours

An antique clock face.

An antique clock face. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s only a day
Could seem like a century
24 hours pass
So fleetingly
But each breath
Lasts eternally
Burnt summer sun
Shining youthfully

Words spoken in haste
So much time to fill
24 hours lost
All our dreams are spilled
On the tablecloth
At picnic hour
Waiting for release
Of a summer shower

It was only a day
Surrounded by silent night
24 hours long
Nothing that’s wrong or right
I held your hand
Just as the light would fade
So that the morning light
Was but a day delayed

24 hours long
Each life is but a song
And every melody
Resonates endlessly

© Helen Valentina 2013 All Rights Reserved

About helenvalentina

Like most people, I have a number of sides to me. The most interesting one probably emerges through my writing, hence this blog. I love to read, and also to write, and so this is a way to share both.
This entry was posted in Air, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 24 Hours

  1. Malcolm Miller says:

    Sweet and lyrical. Some wonderful lines – ‘our dreams are spilled on the tablecloth’. I wish I could write as many poems as you do!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s