The Waiter

Sitting in gathering darkness Neither too warm nor too cold Waiting for thoughts to awaken To flow from my pen as of old Momentous discoveries awaiting In wings behind curtains of fate Circling and coming together Straining at bindings of late Crickets are screaming and raging Pounding has risen to roar Cloudy and gleaming with aging I fear it’s too late as before Wait there’s a whisper of reason Drippingly shredding in pain Telling me come back tomorrow While pleading to see me again Curtains of darknesses closing Ever so swiftly they fall On the question that history’s posing Why was it worth it at all