Waiting

Now I've been four months, twenty-one
Remembering years that I would have won
That becoming of age would mean much more
Than waiting past the point of sore

Lesions, withering, these hands, this mind.
A barrens only could find
Desolate. Where rain stopped caring
Where youth stopped daring

To take leaps of faith
Break off buildings. Fall
Into the arms of a wraith
And stall

Haunting, like thoughts left standing
Swirling, waiting for its own
Evil beauty demanding
To make itself known

Like venom coursing through thinning veins
A nightmare off its rusted reigns
How do I rid these stains
Of blood and gunpowder grains

Ready to fire on a hair
Breathe reluctant with a stare
Lofting and waiting for the inevitable care
A hammer falling on a swear

Flowers blooming on ending
Nothings stemming from mending
Lost selves puled from the husk
Shadows in the morning dusk

On eyes that blindly search for toys
Scattered by who employs
Tattered cloth as sheets to sleep
And sutures as tears to weep

When did the knight, poet, lose?
When did the scribe choose
Such words to fall as a puppet with no master
None controlling the wonderful disaster

Of the strings cut from joints that set
Burning limbs coated in wet
Metals. That shine with hope locked away
Funny how the day-by-day --

Seems out of place in this race
Of growing pace, with my disgrace
I wonder if I could save face
If I really fell without a trace

But no...I won't go,
And leave behind those who know
Those who hear, those who see
Fewer still who need me

No, no. I won't go.
Because I truly love her so.

Author's Note

Open to review!