Waiting Waters


It is in silence
That I tear apart a wallpaper
(a deep grey world that slinks from itself
of night, that the narcissistic solitary
cavorts in the wasted wash of winter
revealing a creaking dark of forgotten ill)

Yet the stars scream of still
(‘tis true, so still, a needle may drop
in dust and yet ring forth
And I am lost in my time
like a nest of moths hungry
for the festering feast)
In the braying of my old heart
For I wait
I wait with trepidation
that in the passing
of desultory seconds
Misery misses me like a strain of Miserere

For we were told when we were children
That spring sings and summer rains
That fall browns and winter slumbers
And in that waiting we forgot
That life was sleeping in its cot
(the clock was striking
And like a thief in night it steals away
The wasted years of youth and
Yonder,
Moonlight folds and stars acrumble
As the layers of nightfall peel away
no more)

In cold I wait
Like strained tunes and a broken ear
I know not what I seek tonight
Beyond the breath I draw in plight
But far far away in a wasted country
Where the land is broken and ill aplenty
No soul sings, nay not even a chirp
From winter and its dying bird