Waiting is

Waiting is, until fullness.

Let me tell you the truth.
I wait not because
I want to,
nor because
I have become good at it,
nor because I think
it will make me wise or good
or enlightened.

No: I wait because
I have no other option. Because
that’s where I am. Because there’s no other place
I can be. Only here. Only here,
waiting. The aliens have not shown up yet, the AI
is not ready, and we are not yet the gods
we were told we would be.

I struggle against the bonds of my skin
and my mortality,
against the relay races we run
handing off batons of pain to each other
leg after leg after leg,
running through hurt and pride and ignorance thick like honey.

Time moves on and we age and die and,
impatient, restless, fretful,
almost sick for something better,
I wait.