Feeding the Wait

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a poem for the one who lives without knowing why

What are you waiting for,
As you eat the hours like bread,
Stuffing days into your belly,
Without tasting where they’ve led?

You wake, you walk, you work, you sleep,
In cycles worn, in patterns deep.
But beneath your bones and borrowed skin,
Do you know where you have been?

You hunger still when meals are done,
You race beneath a dying sun.
You build your walls, you chase your gold 
But haven’t asked: when will you hold?

Is it comfort you chase without knowing?
Or fear that keeps your silence going?
Are you hoping someone calls your name,
Or just afraid it’s all the same?

You speak of peace, yet stir up storms,
You seek love dressed in perfect forms.
But tell me now — in all your days,
Have you looked inward through the haze?

You fill your plate, you fill your cart,
But does it ever fill your heart?
The screen, the noise, the daily run 
Do they end when day is done?

You know you end — the ash, the bone —
Yet live as if you’re carved in stone.
You grasp at joy as if it stays,
Ignoring how it slips, decays.

Is it death you hope delays?
Or peace that hides between your days?
Or are you trapped in dreams half-spoken,
Inside a prayer that’s long been broken?

You live like time’s a thing to spend,
As though the story has no end.
But one day breath will lose its weight —
And still you'll ask,
"What was I waiting for?"

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