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Waiting
The signs peek out at me from behind the overgrown greens,
Like small hints from heaven sending me in a certain direction.
A place that appears so unknown and cold,
Like a stranger’s unwelcoming glare.
On the tops of long rods sit lights,
Waiting for a chance to shine,
Like the moon waits for night.
The others control me,
Deciding when I stop or go,
Like the collar and leash around an eager puppy’s neck.
No turning left,
With no opportunity to turn right,
This path leads me in one direction,
Like a broken compass.
In a place bustling with energy,
So many restrictions stop me,
Like a “do not touch!” sign at a museum.
Without a chance to speed or slow,
I sit and wait for my turn to come,
Like an abandoned and unwanted child.
Lights
I’m waiting
Give me a sign.
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