It’s an oppressive black sky that looms overhead;
The heart-stopping stir of falling in dreams.
It’s vertigo’s creep just at the cliff’s edge;
And the white-knuckle angst of horror film scenes.
It’s dread of the dawn inside sleepless nights;
The pressure I feel at twenty feet deep.
It’s the smothering clasp of sinking in sand;
The insidious fear of a dark narrow street.
It’s the cold sweat of dusk in sinister woods;
The grim buzz of cicadas hidden in trees.
It’s the gnawing unease of the telephone ring;
And the panic of drifting far out to sea.
It’s the ulcerous pit that's deep in my gut;
The merciless weight of a tunnel’s dank heat.
It’s the nerves of an addict thirsting for smack;
It’s his seizure—I know—that is waiting for me ...
Waiting for me ... waiting for me.
your poem "Waiting for Me" is wonderful, Christy. It pulls all the many strands of what you go through into one verbal picture that illuminates so much...It must be very hard to live with that waiting. Michael's picture completes it....all in a package. Thank you for sharing this...it helps our understanding.ReplyDelete