The Suspense is Killing Me – A Poem

I wait in chains

for the dawn, for the almighty clock to tick.

Dangling for the universe to see,

whole lifetimes swim beneath me.

My eyes consume all things in absentia.

Like parchment, my skin,

inked with small stories, unread.

If they came to cut me down, I would deny them.

“Let me hang,” I would cry. “For here I will outlast you all.”

I wait in chains

for a key, for a hand to turn it.

My lips are sewn shut, and my tongue locked behind the pale bars

of my jailer teeth.

At times, the wind rips at my flesh.

At others, it adores me.

Still I sway in bondage, unknowing what is real,

and what lies have come to whip me.

I wait in chains

for the night to die, for the sole voice I starve to hear.

Naked, the shadows strip me to my bones,

killing each yesterday, tearing the names from tomorrow.

If it stings, no one will know,

for none will lift their faces to see me.

And when it comes at last, whether I am whole or living death,

the cold clasps of my captured soul will break.

I will tumble, through cloud, through rain, through everything

I have watched, yet never touched.

The suspense will end.

And I will know the worth of my waiting.





J Edward Neill

About grimwain

J Edward Neill is a surreal artist and author. He lives in a cavern in North GA, where the sun shines too much, but the bourbon is fantastic.
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