A night in dispair

Of moments of waiting, I´ve had enough

Of moments of patience, I keep them close.

However, between the two

I can not find myself conformed.

When there is so much will inside

but action, verb, although alive, comes no forth.

When my drive is captive,

on hold.

Waiting

for

the moment

before my eyes

to unfold.

Arising with rage to then be scattered into pieces.

And then, to be regathered by the hope of being alive.

Because after all

That is

the

fact

To be in human existence

is a miraculous proof in the mere act.

But then I think...

how twisted,

the dichotomy to think of it as such.

While one expects soon roses to spring,

Some (much many more than we are comfortable to recognize or know)

hold faithfully, courageously

to be embraced by another sun...

maybe

soon

to rise.