the tell-toll patience
it’s deafening silence
sends prickly heat
through the shaft of my spine;
those nights of confusion
and indigo questions
throb through my skull at
inopportune times.

i want the consumption
the raw devastation
that patience and virtue
must leave behind;
so travel me further
past bottle-green grottoes
and quench the frustrations of
decisions untimed.


© Eliza Alys Young

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