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...