A Poem about Time

I’m endlessly waiting,
perhaps for the right words
to express the arrival
of spring’s birds. Perhaps
for something not yet
come into being, something
which will amaze me.
The moon climbs the sky,
then suddenly it dies,
and my thoughts are paralyzed.
I look for the moon
in your unhappy eyes.
Your life is a mystery to me,
so I wait, and as I wait
a million leaves slowly grow
on a thousand trees.
And I grow older,
and the stars which were once
young and full of desire,
die, and sink to their knees.

George Freek’s poetry appears in numerous Journals and Reviews. His poem “Written At Blue Lake” was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. His collection Melancholia is published by Red Wolf Editions.