Still Frame

What does it mean to wait?
To run barefoot amidst broken glass desires, naked amongst the foreground;
To spread the charcoal upon the paper heart, free of shadow;
To stand facing the rain with closed eyes, lacking shelter's confident pause;

What does it mean to wait?
To shed silent tears hiding in the shadows;
To stare at walls beckoned with ripped paper;
To walk blindfolded into already misting forests;

What does it mean to wait?
It is the resistance of resolve;
it is evolution's ruptured DNA strand;
It is the erasing of words, of sound. It is the essence of hesitation.
It is this.
It is now.

     And I have walked only so far. I have lived only so long. I have seen only so much.
And between those moments, I have waited –
- for you.

     When one is only really alive in death; when one whispers an answer and receives only questions; when one stands alone in a frightening blur of life's awkward stanzas – I can say that I know more about waiting than perhaps anyone else. But still, it is all that I can fathom in this age of misery, so I will continue to serve our destiny's calling:

To succumb to stillness;
To hold the hands of time as it spins madly;
To wait.