Waiting to Rise - A poem of Life

The waiting sucks.
Period, it just sucks.
Look, there are some limits
to the patience applied
to Life's long travails.

You sit there,
waiting for phone's ring,
and pray good news comes.
But the silence wears
your nerves out.

Still holding on
to Hope's slim threads,
wishing for better rope strands
to lift you up
from the depths.

Waiting to rise
out of disaster's ashes,
you sit doing small things.
Write some short stories,
play a game.

Each day stretches
your abilities a bit.
Testing limits set by personality
on just how long
you can persevere.

The ashes stir,
as Fate's winds gust
and you hope that call
comes pretty damned soon,
lest you collapse.

I ain't Job.
That fellow's patience excelled,
where mine stagnates in mires
that I wandered amid
seeking some redemption.

Still, I wait.
Pandora's box lies open,
Hope still peeking over rim,
checking for safe exit
to lift me.

Legs bunched up,
I'm ready this time
to leap back into Life
and take up loads
that She assigns.

So, call me,
Mister Opportunity who knocks.
Your raps get drowned out
by the woodpeckers hammering
on my supports.

Yeah, they drill
at those thin poles,
seeking their own chosen moment
to take away things
I'm left with.

I am waiting.
Waiting to rise again,
not like the old Phoenix,
but with Thunderbird's wings
beating back up.

Glance at phone,
check the empty inbox,
and still you feel Hope
despite lacking any missives
to sustain Her.

One more try.
And another, ad nauseum.
You plow on through fogs
that hide Fate's weaving
from your eyes.

Others make choices
that decide my destiny
in tiny, imperceptible ways
unless you're the guy
standing right here.
Waiting nervously,
but hoping
this time
is
IT.
28August2014 - Dyfedd Rex

My part is done...

Done what I can,
for the moment at least.
So now other eyes take over,
seeking those missed errors hiding
from my biased gaze.

Thinking I can rest,
Ambition rises his ugly head,
and makes me open a folder
holding that next, tough project.
Another edit lies ahead.

The poems are ready,
the tale now awaits touches
from the finer tools rarely used,
to polish it up and
take Faith's blind leap.

Billenius sips his tea,
his companions lurking amid fogs
that pushing so far, so fast,
has left in my skull.
Despite the Sandman's call.

This is my doom.
To be the Muses slave.
Not that I mind it much,
at least they acknowledge me,
if only tussling hair.

Gotta grind on, now.
Got energy still in me,
so I will take a stab,
or at least run eyes
over this next project.
8August2014- Dyfedd Rex.