Weight-ing.
Though
I suffer no obliging ache,
A
pressure comes to bear,
Upon
the very heart of me.
Sitting
on a low stool,
Flooded
by a sea of could be's,
I
observe every little detailed sign.
Are
you in the silences,
Or
will you arrive in triumphant,
Harmonious
sweet surrender ?
I
wait happily here for you,
Knowing
without doubt you'll come,
When
the glittering jewels are aligned.
Though
the weight, the anticipation
Lays
heavy upon me this day,
I
beg you come, I'll float away.
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