I sit on the bench nearest the window of my bedchamber.
Large puffy clouds consume the sky,
Turning the landscape slightly grey.
Birds sing their sweet reprise,
Whilst small lizards preform a dance of courting on the sill.
A break, only a momentary break,
In the clouds allows for sunlight to flood over my face.
I close my eyes, dreaming of the coddiwomple of my invention.
Only the distant hum of the washing machine reminds me where I am;
Eliciting me back, requiring all of my lucidity,
To open my mind’s eye to the world’s agathokakological facet.
Reminding me that while my earthly body may be confined by chains,
My mind and soul are free to soar to my heart’s content.
Oh, but my heart! —
Which is plagued with a chilling sickness.
A sickness for which there is no cure, but that of time.
All I have is time.
I sit here wasting away, waiting for some obligatory life changing and earth shattering event that
never comes.
Will it ever come?
My heart grows cold and my body numb.
I feel as if I have entered into a trance.
For now, what shall I do now?
I suppose that now all that is left to do is wait.
Listening to the drip, drip, drip of the leaky shower faucet;
I wait.
Listening to the broken words of the conversation transgressing just outside my door;
I wait.
I wait for the moment to come where I am freed from the chains in which I have created for myself, as a punishment,
So that I may escape.
But for now I shall continue to sit here, listening and watching;
Providing the groundwork for my escape.
I wait for the day that I imagine will come anon.
