Waiting

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Waiting


Waiting

Here I sit quietly waiting,
with no thought just feeling...
questions flood my mind; eyes fill with tears...
Am I to blame for all this pain???

My spirit is weak and my flesh ponders all meaning...
nerves tingle and I want to move in the autumn's breeze...
my heart feels no joy because it has been torn away...
torn away by my obsessive human nature.

Here I sit waiting,
with no feeling just being...
desires fill my soul; heart crys out in silence...
It is my own doing in vain.

Here I sit waiting,
with no being just pain...
dreams are torn; my heart breaks and crumbles...
gone is the souls' exsistence...
and so I sit waiting in the silence for the voice of Love.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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Aquiren’s Poems (2)

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Waiting 0
Evening Ballet 0