Alone with Two Boys

Old poem.  I've revised it, but I need more eyes on it.  (Thank you.)



Alone, with Two Boys
 
Their sad eyes look up at me
from the erector set
on the floor.
Blue eyes can carry worry
beyond unhappiness—
such sorrow 
from losing what makes them feel
secure.
 
From what I know of safe,
I want it for these two.
 
Like nuggets
hidden in the deep dark of a quarry,
courage is hidden
in both sets of eyes,
under cold stones of perseverance.
We wait for a stonemason
to cut, carve, dress
the rocks
and reveal the strength
we know is there,
 

somewhere, someplace.

Pat

I believe I'd arrange the lines differently.  (I'd cut the first sentence and the last line)  I'd move the couplet to the end.

Just a thought

Todd

Oh yeah.  Couplet to the end!

A small thing, but I would omit the comma in the title.

Rearranging lines.  I think that is helpful. 

Now I have this:  

Alone with Two Boys
 
Blue eyes can carry worry
beyond unhappiness—
sorrow
from losing
what makes them feel
secure.
 
Like nuggets
hidden in the deep dark of a quarry,
courage is hidden
in both sets of eyes,
under cold stones of perseverance.
 
We wait for a stonemason
to cut, carve, dress
the rocks
and reveal the strength
we know is there.
 
From what I know of safe,
I want it for these two.

Pat

Can the "erector Set" find its way into the title?  (Maybe it will set the context for the rock imagery)  

The first stanza is difficult.  I try to make sorrow into another object of the verb (I know the dash is there, but . . . )  [maybe that entire sentence needs to survive a strong challenge to is existence) 

Now the couplet seems like it is telling.  

Sorry, I'm not sure I've done any good for you

Todd

I have not thought of the Erector set as being a title.   Maybe it will come.  The quarry workers in Indiana had such machines.  Near Bedford, Indiana.  Now there's a clue of where I was. . . .

I'll try again.    

Some poems are just this way. . . .  H A R D.   Like my life at that time. . . . .

Playing with an Erector Set
 
Sons look up from the ground.
Blue eyes carry worry,
worry beyond unhappiness.
Nothing like the sting of a bee
or scrape on a knee.
This is serious sad
where security
cannot live,
where their world is shaking
and falling apart.
 
Like nuggets
hidden in the deep dark of a quarry,
courage
is there for them. 
 
These little quarry workers
dig, cut, carve rocks.
An army of two, they are

on the move.