something I'm working on

This is not waiting

The replacement of energy was an idea before truth.
Someone thought, no matter if it's good or not,

we are the source of connections.

We make use of what they do, burning as they do,
we make the sight for sore eyes seem like nothing.

When the clock itself is an engine. Stalled, side-tracked,

wild words are growing little face or hands in the telling.

Bitter roots or bending to reach a deep down day pressed,

as a lull takes over a radiance speaking of working hours,

collecting a  last minute survival in various lengths.

There is a wall unbuilt to fit capacity of free thoughts

in or about each part of what symptoms show,

detectives arrest the eager one worn in the wind,

dry eyes caught in the act of confusion.

This is not waiting.  This is locked land.

And someone opened minds to this.

s.grutz