AND SO WE WAIT
Posted: March 7th, 2013, 8:45 pm
AND SO WE WAIT
And so we wait –
for the great break
for the mistakes to be dismissed,
for the mysteries to be solved,
for the significance of years spent
to become apparent,
for the vague aspects
of respect to be detected,
for the winter lights
to ward off a chill,
for our wills to be
reckoned with,
our uninspected truths
to be dissected and explained,
for the reign of misplaced traces
of undetermined matter
to matter once again,
each trick of a bleak moment
momentarily declined
by monotony, presence dry,
the wry smile of sarcasm
sneaking into an irritant grin.
And we wait
picking slim determinations
from spiral years
as dear to us as a
clear moment's revelation.
And so we wait
at our vacuous stations,
many hopeful, many vain,
many unashamed of
their unabashed shams
and we exercise our rights
to complain, we damn
the grand scheme,
develop themes and plans,
band together our desires
with our entire entourage
of talents, gather the best of us
for a whole goal, hold onto
an elusive dream, pretend
we seem to understand
why our train is late,
why our drain runs slow,
why what we think we know
is not what we know
because lord knows
nobody knows when tides
will turn, when the yearn
for an opposing shore
will make more sense
than a tense insecurity.
And so we wait–
surely we wait for the fate
of perfect pieces which fit,
a literal promise fulfilled,
a still life animated,
a reason for breath,
a test passed by the vastness
of being beyond all that's required.
And so we wait –
the tired, the paralyzed,
the unspoken, those who
tend to new possibilities,
those who nurture the needy,
those who trip up the pleading
of empty persona, those who don
many hats, those who cannot
survive a natural disaster
without the aid of charity
and through much of this
makes little sense, we wait
for sensory perception
to create comprehension,
our eyes in seek of vision,
our fingers in reach of touch
and in as much as i can,
i must, state this more clearly.
Dedication is as fleeting as a dawn.
Gone are the accolades, the tributes,
the various rituals which attempt
to tie the temporal to permanence.
What lasts lasts
only until.
It is finished,
he said, dead to more.
It is finished.
And so we wait –
the weight of the cross
shouldered like
assigned
responsibilities,
and we make
our way with steps taken,
forsaken by
misdirection.
.
.
dp.2.5.2007
And so we wait –
for the great break
for the mistakes to be dismissed,
for the mysteries to be solved,
for the significance of years spent
to become apparent,
for the vague aspects
of respect to be detected,
for the winter lights
to ward off a chill,
for our wills to be
reckoned with,
our uninspected truths
to be dissected and explained,
for the reign of misplaced traces
of undetermined matter
to matter once again,
each trick of a bleak moment
momentarily declined
by monotony, presence dry,
the wry smile of sarcasm
sneaking into an irritant grin.
And we wait
picking slim determinations
from spiral years
as dear to us as a
clear moment's revelation.
And so we wait
at our vacuous stations,
many hopeful, many vain,
many unashamed of
their unabashed shams
and we exercise our rights
to complain, we damn
the grand scheme,
develop themes and plans,
band together our desires
with our entire entourage
of talents, gather the best of us
for a whole goal, hold onto
an elusive dream, pretend
we seem to understand
why our train is late,
why our drain runs slow,
why what we think we know
is not what we know
because lord knows
nobody knows when tides
will turn, when the yearn
for an opposing shore
will make more sense
than a tense insecurity.
And so we wait–
surely we wait for the fate
of perfect pieces which fit,
a literal promise fulfilled,
a still life animated,
a reason for breath,
a test passed by the vastness
of being beyond all that's required.
And so we wait –
the tired, the paralyzed,
the unspoken, those who
tend to new possibilities,
those who nurture the needy,
those who trip up the pleading
of empty persona, those who don
many hats, those who cannot
survive a natural disaster
without the aid of charity
and through much of this
makes little sense, we wait
for sensory perception
to create comprehension,
our eyes in seek of vision,
our fingers in reach of touch
and in as much as i can,
i must, state this more clearly.
Dedication is as fleeting as a dawn.
Gone are the accolades, the tributes,
the various rituals which attempt
to tie the temporal to permanence.
What lasts lasts
only until.
It is finished,
he said, dead to more.
It is finished.
And so we wait –
the weight of the cross
shouldered like
assigned
responsibilities,
and we make
our way with steps taken,
forsaken by
misdirection.
.
.
dp.2.5.2007
