"You know,
I have forgotten you in the clouds.
But you never know,
I'm still waiting for the rains."

You long to return to a love you’ve never had.
A love that sits and wraps its arms around you—
Like a weighted blanket in the middle of the night.

The kind that seeps into a Sunday,
When the sun hits your shared coffee mugs just right.
The grocery run where his hand grazes yours,
And your heart skips like it’s never been touched that gently before.

The kind that leaves echoes.

You imagine them at the sink,
Brushing their teeth, half-laughing as they talk
Their voice, soft, tired, but loving—
And you smile too, even though no one’s there.

So here you are, chasing echoes—
Echoes that your soul remembers but you do not.
You can only imagine.

And still,
You leave the porch light on.
Just in case.

I refused to let you go
I know that if I did
You'd be gone forever
But you promised
Always and Forever
And I don't want a life
Where promises didn't exist

I'm soaked.
Drenched.
Water logged.

There's wrinkly fingers
and prunely toes-
from a wishing well's
water spilling in my head.

The waterway
pulls me down.
The drain - body blocked,
as a river
meets my ocean.

I'm water logged.
Drenched.
Soaked.

Nothing but water.
Bones of Voss bottles,
blood from Icelandic glaciers,
spring sourced
liquid death.

I'm counting days to our meeting
Waiting is hard, I want to skip it
You know already my location
Open the door and feel temptation

a slip and fall, busted up face,
an ambulance ride, cute young
docs, a his and her, in a busy ER
always apologizing for causing
any pain, and now again, in
another waiting room for the
specialist surgeon to,

make reperfect what was imperfect
naturally, seasoned and aged,
a face lovely and decanted,
a nice blush, though she looks now
a fresh mugging victim

and here I am, thinking about
all the waiting rooms in a long
life that I’ve called home, a temporal
temple abode, for waiting, praying
and now surmising and now, even for
composing

let’s not talk of bland, pastel colors
way past the over limit of blandness,
acoustic tile ceilings water stained,
and “leatherette”  furniture,
that no else ever wanted in their
life, all sent off to die in the classical,
traditional rooms for waiting

births, deaths, diagnoses, verdicts
delivered, way stops on a traveling
life

Dull to many, yet a gateway to my imagination.
Frustrating to some, yet a melody that soothes my soul.
Overlooked by most, yet a divine gift I embrace without hesitation.
Seen as wasted time, yet a rhythm that dances with my heart.

It pulls me into unseen worlds.
Paints stories upon my mind.
Whispers poetry to my soul.
Sings in harmony with my heart.
Lets moments drift like waves kissing the shore.

A cool breeze on a scorching noon.
A refuge in the midst of a storm.
A companion on the endless journey of life.

Waiting isn’t emptiness,it’s space for dreams to bloom.
Waiting isn’t an interruption,it’s an invitation.
Waiting isn’t a pause, it’s a rhythm that time composes.
Waiting isn’t a chore,it’s a dance of patience.

The air is heavy with undone fate,
the sky, a wound that will not bleed.
Time stirs but does not break,
a serpent coiled, forever waiting to strike.

The stars lean close, breathless,
whispering of ruin too long withheld.
The earth quivers on the cusp,
but still, the fall does not come.

Let it end.
Let the sea unmake its name,
the fire carve its final hymn,
the wind unspool the last thread of dusk.

I have stood too long in the hush of collapse,
watching shadows stretch,
watching the world poised to fall—
but never falling.

Let the silence shatter,
let the weight be lifted.
I am weary of waiting.