Our whiskey times

Poetry 1 Minute

Talking is easy,

Silent staring is hard.

 

Losing moments,

Staring into our lost past.

 

My eyes blush,

Reading his eyes smile.

 

Oh man!

It’s been a long time.

 

Then I listen to my own heart,

Demanding dangerous things.

 

Like the devil inside me is overtaking,

And I might give in.

 

But I walk past the dream,

Just staring in those eyes.

 

And his eyes still remembering,

Of our whiskey times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright: Word Hunter

P.C Pexels

Published by Hyphens

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28 thoughts on “Our whiskey times”

  9. I took an art class once in college. The instructor told me the difference between a good painting and a great painting is in the subtlety. According to her, “There are galaxies of nuance in how the shadows fall, and how the light bounces. The masters live in each of those galaxies, at least for a little while.” I dropped that class later that day and signed up for art history instead. But I have come to suspect that her advice applies to poetry as well. I also suspect you have a gift for conveying this kind of nuance. This is really good stuff here.

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