poetry by j matthew waters

the art of practicing patience

thirty-one days have passed
and I’m prepared to breach the surface
having survived my stay with the living dead
who turned out to be quite charming

programmed to reach for stars
atop my toes I stretch my arms high above
palms open and eyes tightly shut
imploring the gods to answer my calls

expectations can be a bitch (I am told)
especially when living in a fantasy world
so I relax my mind and sit cross legged
repeating patience is more than virtuous

march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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