Bide My Time

I am tired,
Of the painful ache,
Of just,
Just always being out of reach of
A goal,
A something
A something good
That I have patiently waited for…

Desire is a sort of test,
A distraction;
What is not meant for you
Will not come,
No matter how long one waits;
What is meant
Will not pass you by.

Patiently, I bide my time.


From this Stone

I am not sure who
I am
Sometimes,
For I lose myself
In loving others
Selflessly,
Only to be the
Battered for
Their ram

My salty,
solitary tears
At times help,
Help me float
As I drift out,
Away,
always
Alone;
Lonely

I can not do it all,
Never was meant to,
I am tired
Of hurting,
And of being alone,
This way,
I fear
my heart calcifying;
And still of me
Demanded
Blood,
From this stone

Precious Lasts

There is a loneliness
That resides in our close quarters,
An unspoken sadness,
An anger,
About the fear we speak of
But dare not name,
We are all knowingly closer to death,
And on the precipice, it is terrifying,
To see each other,
And wonder how long we have,
Before the unknown swallows again,
Before our hellos are really goodbyes,
The moments of nothing
Seem wasted,
And yet are our precious lasts,
To be with and be here in