The Wait


Rip the black from the grey and bleach it to white,
Let the distance drift between shores tonight.

A thousand days without a wink
Will not defeat my pen and ink.
But a thousand more without your face
Would burn my soul and destroy this place.

I cannot continue this dull sort of patience,
Call it my virtue but I am less gracious.
Into the depths of misery plunges my life,
That inevitable, doubled-edged knife.

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