He sits.
In silence.
In his own little world.
All the windows are closed and sealed.
The curtains closed.
He sits.
In the dark.

Long ago
He cried.
But no more.
All his tears dried up.
He has no more tears
To cry.

He sits.
In silence.
And he waits.
For the chaos.
For the violence.
For the blood.

Not his.


He bows his head,
And prays.
“If there is a way,
Let what is to come
Stay there.
In the future.
Let it never happen.
Let midnight never strike.”

He prays in desperation.
For he knows.
He knows what is to come.
He see it.
Every time he closes his eyes.
Every time he sleeps.
In his mind.

He feels it.
Every breath he takes.
With every beat
Of his heart.

And in silence he prays.
“If there is no way.
If it has to come.
If this must be.
He looks to the heavens
And he tries to breathe.
He wishes in the dark
The pain in his soul
Would go away.
“Turn my heart to stone.
Bind my eyes.
Sew them shut.
Cut my hands away.”
He wants to scream.
But all his screams are gone.
They abandoned him
So long ago.

“Make it so
I can’t feel
Any more.”

He begs.
He pleads.
As he always has.
Even though he knows
His pleas will go unanswered.
As they always have.
As they always will.

For a man’s not made
Of stone.

And so he knows the truth.
He has to live,
With the tears
His soul cries
Every moment,
Every day.

As he waits.
While he sits.
In the dark.
And waits.
And watches.
As the world around him
Slowly goes insane.

And he wonders
How many more will die.
How much blood
Will soak into the ground.
Will it ever be enough
To make the world he never made
Begin to change.

He sits alone.
In the dark.
And he knows.
And is afraid.
The answer is,
And always will be.



2 thoughts on “Waiting…

  1. Pingback: Waiting… | Anita Dawes & Jaye Marie

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