"Waiting..."

Sitting on the doorstep.

Waiting for that moment,
that person,
that thought.

The concrete grows colder,
and my clothes are wearing thin.

The sun is going down,
and my eye lids are growing heavy.

The door is beginning to rust,
and my hands are starting to numb.

The warm house is calling my name,
begging me to step into my sanctuary.

My warm, comforting pillow,
continues to beg for my head to rest.

I continue my strike in the cold,
waiting for that one moment; all I need.

Does this moment ever come?
Will it come for me?
Must I flag this down and make myself apparent,
in the eyes of justice?
Or will it be decided, whether my soul is there or not?

Reviews

[Ashley]

Beautiful. One of the best you've written. Its so deep and the imagerys amazing. Brilliant baby. :)