poetry

waiting

the clock’s ticking
marks each second
as it passes
i let them slip by unmoved
too tired to observe
this fragmented fleeting of time
when i’m struck by the vastness
of past and future
what has been and what has yet to be
here i am, now
in this second and that one
is this present tense perfect?
one perhaps last warm moment
before winter’s chill sets in
with threats to petrify our flesh to stone
the lamp alone makes midnight darkness bright
while dog howls and train horns
twine around this ticking night song
more time has passed
and still you are not here
i have been waiting what seems
a long time
imagining your face
your voice
the feeling of your fingers
twined with mine
and still you have not come
but who am i
time-warped mind that i have
to object to the rhythm
of the world?
for millennia of our mortal years
man waited through what might
have been moments for You
unmoved by time as You are
yet even You waited
nine months of seconds spent silently
singing enwombed in darkness
waiting to be born
three days of moments passed noiselessly
trusting entombed in a garden
waiting once more to rise
time is still fleeing from me
but i mark its passage unalarmed
You have promised
and it is enough
some day when time no longer binds me
i will see Your face
hear Your voice
hold Your love-scarred hands in mine
You have illuminated my darkness
and i will soon have no need of night
for with You there is endless day
even so, Lord Jesus, quickly come

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