waiting for inspiration between moments
breathing a stuttering hand contrived,
I am a rock on the land newly arrived.
I am not alone, as some consider loneliness
lying in wait for visitors knocking at a
closed door, rhyming. I am a clock at
midnight, chiming.
I am not afraid, as some fear death
dreading the end or some survival. I
am alive and glistening within this
awkward listening, awaiting your arrival.
Rojan Zét
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