Waiting

Waiting for nothing to materialize

leaves the soul distorted by everything

happening all at once;

the pouring is not water in a glass,

but rain on the window pane;

the gain is no bigger than the stain

of disappointment lingering on the brain;

Waiting for everything to transpire

from nothing that was meant to be;

a great deception of slackness has brought

to me; the world could never revolve

around immaturity;

                         

the pouring is not milk in a cup,

but rain on the window pane;

the gain goes no deeper than the domain

of judgment overflowing the brim

of insane;

Waiting for nothing to come

vacates a nest of everything

conjuring something;

the pouring is not vodka in a flask,

but rain on the window pane;

the gain is no bigger than the grain

embedded in the blockage of time

again and again.