Naught

Time clicks as I wait,

The hour ends before me take,

Sitting, thinking, waiting,

My mind escapes.

 

The day grows old as night passes,

Anticipating, watching, staring, seeing,

Yet, nothing.

Silence begins the day,

As morning comes without notice,

Tears begin to fall, slowly.

 

The day moves on without hope,

Wishing to be what is not to be,

The sun moves to its peak

Without a whisper or retreat.

 

Time moving, but still empty.

 

Stomach aching, curling,

Still waiting, seething,

Yet, nothing.

 

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wordsintopiary
A kid with feelings in glorious technicolor. The deluxe of spontaneity. Unambiguous zeal. This is my Querencia.

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