We wait like raindrops, contemplating drought We wait, for what? The end that might begin? To turn perceptions into certain doubt We wait for changes, much to our chagrin It doesn’t pay to wait for certain change It doesn’t pay to change when we must wait Dichotomies are nothing if not strange It’s strange to think of all we contemplate Then back to being raindrops in the drought We contemplate perceptions which will change Is this what dried up life is all about? Is waiting thus the way the gods derange? Deranged in waiting, everyone is god A metaphor perceived as simply odd.
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