I guess I was waiting for the right moment, perfect constellations, planets align.
However, in waiting I became slightly obsessed, counting coop, no victory, myself I left behind.
Waiting always for the right time,
When I guess the right time doesn’t exist right?
Always searching the grounds for a perfect rhyme,
Which translates out to me making a fist at the world.
Think I was hoping to find the perfect day, cloudless and uninterrupted, the kind you remember.
Instead, I’d wait through melting ice, growing spring, but nothing moderated that unseeing temper.
Waiting forever for the right time,
When I guess the right time is now right?
Perhaps off the banks of the rivers of my crimes,
Between the then and now we can have sight…if only we choose to see and not blind.