Article voiceover
Waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for the ice to melt, I look into my mistress’ eyes, the winning hand I’ve been dealt, and consider all my lies and all the truth that I have felt. Standing here out in the cold, my bones ache to have to wait for things that have been foretold like free will and the chance of fate, like the train or getting old, like the sunrise or love and hate. Wait I do and wait I will for my print job at the shop, for time to come, time to kill, time to climb aboard, time to hop, time to run right up the hill to count my heartbeats till they stop. When they do, what will I be? You wait for me, I for you, but in the end are we free or are we merely black and blue, blissful in our misery as the sun rises right on cue?
The combination of old fashioned rhymes and modern thoughts is irresistible. I particularly like the beginning of the third stanza which underscores the whole idea of patience. This is a very fine poem.
"Wait I do and wait I will
for my print job at the shop"
A sunrise as beautiful as this is worth getting up for no matter the situation.