“Hell is truth seen too late.”
Hobbes

The war of all against all, will it ever end?
Where does it come from, heaven or hell?
Everyone has some fear of the unknown
And the poverty of sense it promises,
We face it at the end of every day
And that’s no doubt the reason why.
Pity the living, or else a glutton be.
To shed blood makes us feel immortal,
It’s our revenge for being defenseless.

Waiting moves through time like a room
You can’t remember entering or leaving.
In hospitals we meet our human family
But don’t recognize each other on the street.
Waiting is an evenly dispersed weight
Across furniture that never asked for pain.
Car trips were like waiting in motion
Between dreams of being somewhere else,
Waiting for parents to visit, for rain to end,
For school bells to sound, for church to be over.
The shadows of birds, like fish shadows,
Move smoothly on the surface of waiting
While undertows compensate for presence
Drawing time further out into timelessness.