By: Alexandra Lane
Spare me the
patience is a virtue?
But, what about when
patience feels like a vulture,
scavenging the deserted soul for sustenance?
Or time will heal all wounds?
Then why have I spent so long reaching
for words to bind these wounds
and all it seems I grasp is Your silence?
In that taciturn darkness,
whispers of Abandoned
slither around wrists and ankles
My soul tires of
this endless expectation.
Never sure when;
never sure how;
never sure who.
Even still, Hope wrestles Doubt in my chest.
Though her voice quivers, she counters,
Not abandoned, to Doubt’s vicious hiss.
She whispers, He is coming,
as she digs in her heels for another battle.
And, my worn and weary soul
for it to be so.
Copyright 2018. Must the permission of Alex Lane before printing or publishing this poem.
Acrylic, acrylic gouache, paper, charcoal on raw cotton canvas
Approximately: 18in x 40in
Inspired by the poem -I Wait- by Alexandra Lane
Lanecia A. Rouse Tinsley