Wait for It

Anticipation Poetry Challenge

Cautiously filling the mind with unexpected hopefulness. We search, we hope and we wait for something bigger than ourselves to appear. Gradually expressing the freedom of our minds to push something through the grinder in hopes of spewing out captivating diction.

Sculpting and crafting the substance into something noteworthy and cook-able. We sit at our computers, our typewriters, and inconsequential phrases surface. Dancing along the keys as if playing childhood songs on the piano. Crushing our fingers on the keys in hopes of some unfound talent.

*twinkle twinkle*

Missing the primary focus of why we sit and mutter such rambunctious phrases. The want for pauses lapses, we desire death defying depth to please ourselves. We wish to write symphonies, utilizing letters to dangle over our consciousness and gain something we lost. We close our eyes, dreaming of the luminescent luxury of fulfillment.

Craving that slight grin of pride when we’ve collected enough data to reveal a story. One that will ask for the reader’s hand and invite them down the steady rabbit hole. Patience outlasts anticipation as a story begins to bloom. The digging has stopped as we begin to put away childlike banter.

The child is gone, but the past shines on the brighter side. We remember the ease of wonderment that youth placed in our hearts.

*twinkle twinkle little*

We so desperately longed-for wisdom that came with age. But we didn’t take loss into effect. Our mind wandering adrift, losing the only path we once recalled, All for the brief reminder that feeling limitless is endless.

*twinkle twinkle little star*

We hear our younger selves singing and standing but five feet away. Hesitantly walking towards us with slow flat steps attempting not to fall. They arrive standing in front of us, dissecting the imperfections we’ve accrued over the years. We awkwardly look away and feel their gaze begin to grow as they left their arms up to us.

We look down reminiscing, as we reach down to lift our respected creative side. They sit, exploring our face and smiling with each moment passed. They look over to see what were conforming, and start clasping their fingers together. We place them on our laps, we grip the grilling keyboard as they place their hands on ours.

Blistering bolts strike precise points allowing the lightening to course from our being into our writing. And all we had to do, was wait for it.

© Gaston King, all rights reserved.