Always waiting anticipating
and for what
the other shoe to drop
the sky to fall
or nothing at all
in agitation expectation
a second guess
creating stress
it seems to me
where none need be
take a break
from how you make your bed
as you must lie in it
perhaps even die in it
either way it's in your head
and you may feel it's real
but here's a clue for you
it's your reprieve
imagination
is only make believe
Expectation ~
Can result in ~
Joyful Elation ~
Or
Great Devastation ~
Courtship is over a decade,
Our love keeps blooming, never fade;
I’m treasured like your precious jade,
All sweetness, no war.
This Heart's Day, I’m expecting more,
A proposal than earning score;
As you kiss me, I slam the door,
And yet here we are.
The expectation of approval is decay
It creeps in days of illness full of sorrow
You tarry stolidly until it shrinks away
And disappears with the morning croaks of crow
Poor thing, it cannot stop its hoarse lament
At least you hear it this way, although it might
Just laughing, and you fail to understand
What’s going on, what’s happening outside.
As you are always anchored to the past
The future comes unnoticed, which seems great
Forgetfulness takes up a final thrust
Memory wins, but no one cares, it’s too late..
Absence craves answers
in a hollow solitude
pulling us nearer
driven by the aching void
which cannot stay left unfilled
Expectation swells
in the pause between two breaths
drawing strings tighter
to capture what thought had missed
in expelling the longing
Silence sends alarm
as loud as a siren's cry
something is coming
it presses the heart to hear
what listening ears have missed
The longer the wait
the more the ears turn inward
to fantasies spun
to fill the gaping silence
that refuses to be still
Silence grows restless
to unlock forgotten doors
that expectation
swore were already waiting
in the wings for their prompt cue
If love breaks you open
And you have a chance to look inside
You might be surprised at what you find
If love smashes your expectation
And you have a chance to make your defense
You might be greeted with a surprising strength
If love disturbs your every intention
And you have a chance to meet your fear
You might be astonished at the things that become clear
If love crashes into your wall of security
And you have a chance to construct better walls
You might be captured by a decision not to rebuild at all
If love explodes into a million pieces
And you have a chance to walk away
You might be dazed by the unreachable splinter lodged in your heart to stay
Golden fog surrounded Cherrie in a kind of woodsy embrace
She had never seen the world this bright at six a.m. before today
A great day to walk in the oaks, she thought, but she grabbed her cloak
No wolves, however, she felt a bit like Little Red Riding Hood now
Glittering joyful orbs followed her progress down the rainbow path
A mystical feeling was in the air; an expectation of wonderfulness
She felt more alive than she usually felt, enthusiastic about today
Her birthday, where she was being overseen by her spiritual guides
In our society those who are pure are mistaken for weak.
They are taken advantage of
"Whipped into shape" by society
"Oh you don't eat enough" ends up being
"Are you going to eat all of that?"
"Why don't you have any friends? Are you depressed?"
to
"You have too many friends are you that desperate?"
Being "whipped into shape" by society means you are no longer important enough by just being you.
The Mirror’s Truth
I stand in front of the mirror,
and it shows me—
but not really.
The left is right, the right is left,
a quiet trick my eyes have always known.
I fix my hair,
adjust the strands just how I like them.
Not for the world—just for me.
But when I step away,
that version of me stays behind,
trapped in glass,
while the world sees something else.
They see the "real" me,
the one I don’t recognize,
the one I don’t shape.
Their eyes decide, their words mold,
but it’s never the version I like best.
Two choices—
live as the reflection I love,
or as the reality they expect.
So I choose,
left instead of right,
my own small rebellion,
because even if they see it different,
I know what's real to me.
My hair is my life,
and life is mine to shape.
Is this what was meant for me…
The drawn reflection of a man?
Each step taken with the lightest touch,
So many they tread a new course.
At every bend, a choice was made,
Drawing circles and channels upon the land.
Choices made, lines in sand,
The track lies ahead, not behind.
I thought I’d rise, reflection true,
With head held high, over the brow.
But winds can shift and torrents flow ,
And roots will twist snap and wither.
Was the forest path already walked,
Or was it always laid, obscured?
Dreams lie like scattered leaves in the ether,
The wind whips them skyward, soaring,
Then wavering, falling - inevitably to the ground,
Shafts of sunlight pass through the branches,
Each footstep bolder, deliberate and careful.
The trodden path is worn and wild,
Shadows give way to sunlight, and light gives way to dark.
What you give attracts people
The way and manner you give it attracts God
Therefore give in humility and love
Giving is not an occasion to show off
Rather it is calls for remorse and brokenness
If you cannot give from the little in your hand
Giving big when you are rich may never happen
Giving is a sacrifice only
When you give what you cherish
When you give with all your heart
Someone will be waiting to give you
Giving with expectation in mind is giving wrongly
Cause giving is an assignment from God
And you cannot afford to fail God
It is much blessed to give
Than to receive says the Holy Book
The secret of blessing is in giving
Those who are to receive must learn how to give
Giving helps us reshape our destiny
Love expresses itself in giving
True giving is giving without expectation
you can't trust expectations
if it's not an exact science...
it's just probability...
Feelings toward expectation of death were overwhelmingly curious
knew I was going to die that day, my car was going way too fast
on gravel, approaching a T in the road; there was no escape
I yelled a thank you to God for a good life
Deserving death, not welcoming it, but resigned
BAM!
We had hit the embankment
I expected to see my body from somewhere above
Instead, I was still here
I reached for my purse wondering if I could still walk
Was I still alive?
It seemed impossible.
Confusion walked up and down my spine.
My next feeling was absolute disappointment.
Disappointment that I had not died?
Yes.
A feeling I never expected
But have never forgotten
An assurance that whatever is next must be super wonderful
I like you
I really like you
I want to talk to you every day
And share joys and sorrows with you
I also want to meet your friends
As your boyfriend
And be the one who holds your hand
And walk forward with you.
Expectation
Waiting, what for? Every things in life is moving on.
Yeah, everything has just gone, life is just an illusion. It can not be a home
What can I do?
Life lives without me. If it is called, then there is a chance of coming home.
Home? I have none. It’sn’t a long time ago.
But life is a country. My soul lives in this land, nowhere land.
Where can I live?
Life lives without me. If it is a call, then there is an opportunity to get home.
Waiting. But why? Life goes slowly. On. On? Original ongoing goal
Anyway, I know life comes, hm, always gone, mine is in a tomb.
I live there.
I am a dead man, life is in me, never calls, there is no longer an option.
Hell is my home.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.