Waiting For Morning (Poetry of the Apocalypse #1)
Brick and steel
cannot be expected
to separate or divide our interest.
Two lives,
destine to collide,
are waiting to be realized.
Hollow trees, abandoned wells,
remnants of a town long gone;
are signals for dark quiet nights to come.
The nightingales are screaming on their branches
and I watch them nervously from a distance.
For a long time there has been no one,
But I know it is only a matter of time.
Soon, you will come. With your will
and promises
to either save or destroy me.