Waiting (Visual poem)

[mayamaia]

For the young, the perception of time is dense.
It always takes forever.
Waiting is torture.

I am young.
And here I sit, wondering.
All my thoughts strive to action.

I do not know peace, though I know calm.
Calm is conscious, peace is not.
I _choose_ calm.

My body won't.
It screams to move and change.
It tells me I must, now, or I lose my chance.

But I fight it, in every woken moment.
I say, not now, not yet.
Or we DO lose.

It won't hear.
It rages on in firey, blossoming glory.
It screams that I failed, will fail, will always fail.

And I, I resist and I douse the flames with tears.
I think on what I have lost by giving in.
On what I still might lose.