Waiting For Revelation
Revelation, I’m staring at the front door
waiting for you to come home.
My elbows are digging grooves into the table, Revelation;
drop a needle on them and you can hear the crackle
and hiss of hymns and mantras warped by neglect.
Revelation: my coffee is cold, my cigarette is stale
and my body can’t keep up with the relentless ticking
of the clock.
I wait for you, Revelation, like a parent
waiting for their child who’s gone out for the night
and is still missing hours after their curfew.
I fear that I will never see you again.