Waiting

Last night I waited

What is it in waiting that turns
minutes to hours and days to lifetime
the drama of darkness stirring
me like a coffee peaking in taste

I wasn't worried or anxious
more like depressed and desperate altogether
and waiting was all I can do
with only the faint glow of a rectangular light
lighting my face
and wisps of unfinished lines and lost words
fading to non-existence
and stroke of my fingers
as if paying homage to a god
sleeping
encased in clear white crystal.

The coffee stales in silent bitterness.