A Wait

I await.

Like the dry parched earth that awaits the downpour of monsoon,
Like the cold winter air that waits for the warmth of the sun,
Like the lonely sailing ship that longs for the sight of land,
Like the heavy dark evening sky that waits for relieving moonlight,

I await.

Like the old brass lamp that again longs to smell of oil,
Like the hinge of the squeaking gate that aches for good grease,
Like the cracked cup that yearns to hold water again,
Like the forgotten easel that hopes for a creative canvas,

I await, to hold the hand that has left me.