Purgatory is my hell.
Waiting for joy or pain,
Whichever comes, I remain,
anticipation makes me unwell.

I want to do and see and be
Not become, transform
Reducing less, wanting more
I want to have just what I need.

Evangeline waits, Longfellow
But I stand with a smile
Like a child with hands open wide
Awaiting the next promised marshmallow

I can hear the sand in the hourglass
Feel the clock ticking
Despite a secondhand missing
While I wait for each hour of the year to pass.

There’s no hell, I’m sure
It’s just a lobby with chairs
Where we sit and wait for hours
And I call this time in my life purgatory.

150 150 Stafford Wood
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