i cannot wait any longer
for your advent
i cannot sit here cold
for another hour
so i will rise and live
alone maybe
fragmenting myself again.
sometimes in the dark
there are two voices
one is mine
seeking and raging
but then when i am still
like a young girl
who has spent her strength
in racking sobs,
then the second patient one
speaks, its turn arrived.
i used to hear you,
you second voice,
you, like a vast ocean,
breaking distantly,
but i have turned
and you are silent
because i have
asked you to be.
and now i am waiting
sitting at your doorstep
for crumbs of the conversation
but the master of the house
only gives to those who ask
and i am too proud
to be the beggar i was.
i am less for it too.
