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.