Waiting

Waiting
(Of dust motes – glimmering in sunlight’s apathetic bliss.)


Waiting.

This endless waiting

I hate.

Not knowing

If one can. Or cannot.

Or how,

In infinitesimally minute thought flickers,

Can someone just – quite unabashedly and grotesquely commonplace – pass the time?


Waiting.

Perpetually waiting.

For what really, one is behooved to have an answer. For whom?

For him? He is … well…not here. Gone.

For pastures not necessarily greener.


As I tell myself that I AM.

In the here and now of layered sub contexts of my own creation (rationalize, I say necessarily).

Though I know I fail grandiosely.

Tell me how can I?

Or cannot?

Then I’ll pass the time. Unabashedly and grotesquely commonplace.

While I wait…