A phantom throb
Through a pumping vessel
And I wait

Wait

Wait for the surge
But it doesn't come
It's only the ghost of what was

And the unborn fetus of what is to be
But in this moment
There is nothing

No throb
No surge
No twitch
No sob

Just an *****
That sits still
Moving naturally
In gentle ease

A dangerous feeling that lures
To the metallic shine
Of otherworldly deeds
That I would never consider otherwise

But when the stillness passes I am reborn again
Through with waiting for the moment of truth
Until we meet again