Waiting Game



I watched you push your painted, half-filled heart up the hill,

Place it on a staff and wave it high

For all to see.


I saw you stumble when tragedy rent your days

Like sails in the hurricane,

How your knees fell atop your emblazoned flag

And crushed it like a grape.


I felt the pain you carried like a rucksack lashed to your chest.

Saw the way you lifted it in front of your eyes until 

You could no longer see the path.


I waited patiently, years perhaps if I knew of time.

Until finally you noticed me.

Watching, feeling, seeing, waiting.


Until  you found a place to set down your pack

Long enough for us to climb this hill,




About Pazlo

Armchair Zen Master, father, fisherman, grandfather, poet, brother, naturalist, collector of old things, dog person, human.
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