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Waiting

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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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