Waiting To Wake
Last night while waiting,
the storm did break, and feathered the county,
with a moisture, spoke of desire.
Walking with slow purpose,
a ledge that rounded a vacant depth,
so callous the rock, I wouldn’t touch,
yet humbled I am by every step.
There is this place I am wandering,
a soul in search of reckoning,
afraid of my aftermath,
knowing my own inclement weather,
creates such a sallow fury.
I listened to the raindrops,
patter my windows, pounce shingles,
I looked outside to the quiet street.
The walk seemed forever,
while awaiting a light,
I felt a certain draw that would
forever be my eternal wake.