Pearly White Gates Poem by R. L. Allen

Waiting for you

always here
in the same place
the same
bench
the same chair

i sit patiently
like a uncooked cake
in the
oven

waiting upon the sun
the warmth
the soul
of
the
sky

to shine upon me

and i am

here

the same
every day
at nine o’clock sharp
as the birds
stir

and the ocean breathes

won’t you join me
I pray
for breakfast?
won’t you come home
for lunch?

no

whispers the wind
sharp as my heart

no, I shan’t
because I can’t

I can’t

and I spit spitefully at
the wind

because

I know it is right.

I know you’re not coming.
for you, it’s always night.