Sit and Wait

I saw you perched on the chair

looking down on the floor as a man

towards his doom

on a Tuesday afternoon. 

And with eyes ablaze 

with thoughts so wild

that the grass would stop -- stare

and wait-- to see how death

could build a spectacle, the smolder of a boy

with a voice harsh enough

to pierce the silence of a dormant god.

He stared, and lived, as do the clouds:

passive and filled with life;

life that comes and floods the plains of old

and kill the fisherman that walks the waves

of watered time. 

The End

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