The Wait... Poem by Bethany Louise Chipperfield

Each Second; an hour,
waiting. Constantly waiting.
For you.
Can't you see I'm shaking, quaking?
Destroyed masterfully by a shiver -
tearing up my spine,
ripping me deep.
Still, I wait for your promise
of simple words,
Yet
words are the only things that mean,
anything. Anymore.
Cold has struck higher, harder
hacking me deeply.
Cut into veins of ice, now I'm
devoid of hope.
Any hope of you.
Numb overtakes me, lacerates me, berates me
each limb now lost,
only for you.
Misguided I am left.
Waiting. An Eternity of waiting.
Left,
No hope.
No feeling.
Alone.