Patient
Footsteps echo from where you used to stand,
I've sat around just like I am still now,
That stubborn grin still tied across my face,
Hands still folded, patient and steady.
And I list the things I have not been,
And probably will never be even now,
My voice distinctly lacking any song,
Clumsy more than polite and right to say,
Here my view allows to watch the storm part,
It's burdens are past and the clouds divide,
Into smaller clusters of wisp and life,
Slowly fading into light and air and atmosphere,
Such is your sound and presence of soul,
An echo of the former that will haunt latter days,
As I see you, you're fading is held in place by hands,
Certain and sure in their warmth and grasp,
Shadows and glows define my rest and place,
Definitions and senses of reality or hope,
My joy is ironic and bittersweet bliss surrounds,
Let my chronicle be recorded, my foolish self pronounced.
The pen graces the paper with poorly constructed
Characters arranged into jumbled formations
Unpleasant to the eye and difficult to perceive
Even to the most well trained profession of sight,
These words are mine and will remain,
Although my mind is derivative of truth,
At the end of the day regardless of sun or smile,
I still wait, sitting, as is alone my fate.
Copyright © Justin Benassi | Year Posted 2012
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