Just simply waiting; wasting time with wordplay.
Woes in me wading; pacing in a repetitive way.
Growing increasingly impatient; needing to be set free.
While my exterior is rowing, weakening, and failing: simply suffering.
But then my juggling thoughts are crumbled to the ground.
Content with no worrying; what is sought as mumbled will loudly be found.
My arms are no longer weak from my rusting circus routine.
Inside and out I am now calm; I can wonder upon dreams and cherish relaxing.
Everything is consciously cleansed; constantly cleaned of the restless sting.
The day my bandage is abandoned;
is the day I voyage up from the damage,
and am sent to my eternal resting.
