waiting to be shown my illusion,

waiting to be summonsed,

awaiting consummation.

All else fades away!

The gears are worn smooth

by some cosmic driver

hell-bent on insanity!

I weep, here, pregnant and lonely,

waiting to be soothed, or awakened,

waiting to be anaesthetized,

awaiting confirmation.

Four forces hold sway!

The years born from seconds

of some rhythmic lover

intent on intensity!

I cry, here, the cry of existence!

A weak, natural cry of deliverance.

He who has ears: let him judge of our impotence.

She who has life: let her judge our inheritance.