The Waiting

A few more minutes of this midnight
might extinguish all the cold
for an ever, this tightly guarded
citadel with precise rotations
can only take so much sunshine,
so much rain and this amount
of darkness. A few more minutes
of determination might kill
another hundred thousand people.
These restless words and books
tell those types nothing,
yet our expectations
hound us to the grave
in which those that do
relax talk to those
that don't about the waiting.
It is coming on strong mister
this Armageddon of yours.
Why did you do it?
A few more minutes in this
purgatory can't stand you up,
can't resusitate your sorries
from under this blanket
of soil and surrender.