Waiting

April 1, 2012
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I perceive Death’s glacial advance
As the creep of frost on window panes;
Its pace quickens with sidelong glance
‘Til crystals dance as tongues of flame.

The change of stoplights on silent streets,
And weeds that thrust sharp fingers through
The fissures of fractured concrete
Make me weary of waiting to
Grow beneath them.
I howl, and
Run toward him.

Gibt es ein Leben vor dem Tod?

In impatience and desperation,
I don the fur of extinct beasts;
For pleasures not found in creation,
We hunt, destroy; The wolf must eat.
I attempt to discern with divination,
In the entrails of my kill,
The source of a cavernous hollow
That no mortal feast
could fill.
In an instant of careless panic,
By my own indulgence I am betrayed;
At times when self-restraint is static
The void too clearly is displayed.

And still He approaches.
No faster, but perhaps
leaning forward,
head bent doggedly
like one who possesses knowledge
of the exact hour of
arrival.

I dare not remain stationary,
For fear that Death will reach me ‘fore
Comfort is found from what I carry,
But press onward, unto His door.





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