The Race to the End

We have waited wildly

Waited for the infinite decades of your bitter zap

Yet you never said so long

As if the edge is immortal.


We waited to end the race

Because our guts are empty,

And our mouths can’t salivate.

The wait had been towering

And our feeble breathes are withered,

But the lurk remains deathless.

What if our rivers dry out?

And the patchy savannah disappears beyond our sight?

What if our gasp, the last one, wanes into the thick fog?

What if we conk waiting, and our time remains endless as it is?


The wait is lean and we have no patient anymore

Because we want an end to the rugged scurry.


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