Part 5: Surrender

Waiting

I.

The rain is not letting

up, the staccato rhythm of water

on the glass and the blowing

winds lull me to sleep.

I open my eyes

to a different landscape, branches

clawing at the glass and screeching

winds fought with lightning

strikes. Ah, the swirling

leaves keep in time

of the whirling fan blades,

as the warmth of

the room causes the frosted

glass, and the vacant space

recently vacated.

When can we talk

face to face, exchanging views

and pleasantries, of what-if’s

and why-not’s, and maybe

then we can truly say

what we feel like saying.

II.

i played right into

your hand, the moments

like trickling sand in an hourglass.

i have seen with my eye

naked tricks, and yet,

the stage is properly set.

my freaking mind reels,

as you silently leer;

your greatest performance

on celluloid film, involves

me getting skimmed. i lie

waiting, the pit of my stomach

sinking, my hoarse voice

echoing across the sea raging.