I know that when Love was born, the Earth cooled;
The storms dispersed; The minerals softened;
The roiling seas stilled to a gentle roll.
There is a bleakness that anticipates
great events, as if nothing wants
to invest itself in the useless moments
before the transcendence.
And once more, we find our lives so empty:
What is it that we are waiting for?
Copyright 2011 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.