the wait

it has always been about the wait.
we stumble toward the grave 
in a blinding fog pretending we can see.
we wait for the end,
living in the footnotes
of our lives, the summary
we try to pass off as story.
but we are the story, unabridged
and waiting to be read,
waiting for someone to turn
our pages as we wait for the end of
the chapters of our lives.


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