We wait for words like forests wait for trees
And when we’ve waited long enough, we speak
As quietly as honey waits for bees
A metaphoric jar will crack and leak
Our sense of equilibrium is spilled
In sticky puddles on a shiny floor
In time the time we sense can yet be killed
If killing time is what your words are for
Be quick if you must wait for words to pass
Be more than less, unless you’re anymore
Be anyone you want; be polished glass
Regardless, you can shatter on my floor
If love becomes a word that you must hate
Your words will grow as forested I wait.
This entry was posted on Saturday, February 18th, 2023 at 12:59 pm and is filed under Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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