Ugh

The Long Haul

In the hall of heaven's passerbys I wait on a marble bench
with my chin resting gently in my palm.
Although their wings are soft and pure like yours
these angels who flutter by are not you.
As I watch them pass, they gaze down at me briefly
with a loving look of pity and do not say a word.
Their silence passes through me like sharp arrows,
but deftly avoiding the last solid piece of my heart.
Just as I am willing to let these young vines
creep upward and envelope my legs,
these souls that pass me are willing to water their ground.
In the time that I have become a fixture of that great room
I have seen all the doors closed, again and again.
A small flower curiously blooms on my knee as one opens
and I watch in with a somewhat sullen anticipation
as it is not you who graces my passing glance.
But sometimes the entirety of space is perfectly quiet
and I can hear you in no particular direction,
just off in the distance and my heart burns to a stop.
I dare not move any part of me and conceal its sound.
I want you to see this, my sad, beautiful cocoon of patience,
just before before you rip me free from its confines.
For in the time that has passed, I have been sapped
of all that strength that would let me do it myself.
As a single red petal falls to the ground,
my eyes close and I can hear you once more.