Every waiting moment is a fold of sorrow
Pierced within the heart.
Pieces of mind get torn off emotionally,
In large wisps
Like a waif I lie, stillbound to action:
Each waiting hour I stare and see not,
Hum and hear not, nor, care I how long
The lode mood lasts.

My eyes are raw and wide apart
Stiffened by the salt bar
That separates us.
You so far;
I at ease at the hearth
Glowing for a welcome
From your heart.
Each beating moment crosses my dream
So that wise things cannot pass
As we had planned.
Woe for all of us: supporting those
Who like us fail to steel their hearts,
But keep them wound in clocktight rooms,
Ill found. Unused. Obsessed by time.
Each beating hour
Rings false.