Waiting
he sits, patiently impatient, calm,
outwardly no racing thoughts or heart on show,
but inward seething keeps the monster warm,
unleash-ready, eager for the rampage-consuming glow.
was this another divinely proverbial carrot held
before this simple man: the gods mirth-born donkey?
or was this ray of hope true and virtuous meld,
not more imagined laughter at expense of countless a plea?
verdict hanging out there, its balance frightful frail,
the now, and the near-now, determining of that fate,
and as winds of chance while away at a mayhap false dawn, weak and pale,
faith alone, Deo volente, keep at bay the monster's hate.
So, now it comes to this:
Eternal rage, or some grateful moments' bliss...
Copyright © Henk Van Niekerk | Year Posted 2021
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