The Waiting Fool

I say I'm sorry, though the words sound weak

This foolish heart refuses to be wise;

I cry and beg, though silence is you speak,

And know well enough how hope-born reason dies.

I stand no longer with my arms outspread,

Not waiting by the door for you to call;

Yet something in me lingers, fast instead,

As if just waiting for a heavy fall.

Damn it, what is it waiting for today?

Perhaps to learn the lesson one more time,

To take a final, sharp and bitter slap,

For daring to keep loving this sublime.