What are we waiting for?
She always asked
Everytime she thought deeply of her work,
She would ask
What are we waiting for?
She was not sadistic
Not in any way, shape or form.
But when she looked a little deeper
And questioned a little more,
Her work would seem
Unimportant
What are we waiting for?
She keeps asking,
I don’t see her every stopping.
But some nights,
When she dances and time stops,
She is no longer waiting.
She must do more of the time stopping,
And less of the waiting.
For one day,
I wish for her to stop asking
What we are all waiting for?