Waiting On.

Restless nights, slipping into a dream

nothing really matters, not the crop or the cream

dreams kinda splatter with a drop or a scream

seems like a platter with soda pop with the team.

Redeem, the loss of yesterday we forget

all the wrongdoings are a thing we regret,

all the wrong brewing up thoughts in the head.

All the wrong brewing sipped with our Daily Bread.

The coroner, a coronary shock with a pound,

Ezra with heart sees a metro’s real sound.

Ezra with art is a poem re-found,

Discovered a chapter with which to resound.

Stopped to guns drawn at a liquor shop corner,

bullets getting popped for the lack of a quarter.

Quarters getting changed for a sip of a porter,

as a Porter College student sees the end of his quarter.

Visionary with a choice, decision with a voice,

as addition and subtraction led up to an incision

between heart and the soul, a lyric surgeon is on hold

blurring the lines between belligerent and bold.

We’re waiting for the hero so let his story be told

as he makes his return will our hearts quite be sold?

The stories of old make the young ones look cold

as they scoff at the marvel of a stone that was rolled.

The music, in symphony, is just playing on

and the audience is us, well, we’re waiting on.


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