She waits. How beautifully she waits.
How impossibly lovely she is
with a thing so passive.

With what weight she waits,
making her bus or boyfriend
(or whatever she waits for)
seem like a first brunch with Christ.

She waits regally, in perfect contrast
to the drooling buffoon describing her.

she waits on knights and kings
the pain and glory that they bring
the laughter and mirth of their fans

she waits on dukes and lords
the greatness they launch you towards
the lifestyle, the grandeur, the decay

she waits on mansions and castles
and any other large parcels
to give her the joy that she craves

she waits on what she knows
from white fences to old shows
to once again make her feel

she waits on death and life
to combat her strife
and bring her peace amidst the pain

she waits on earth and moon
and every sandy dune
to love and adore her as one

she waits on what she can't take
and all her previous mistakes
it haunts and torments her at night

she waits on dark and light
she waits on her last true fight
a battle of place and time

she waits on pain and hate
wishing for a clean slate
"any moment now."