Waiting

You could shine your face on me and I would be rescued from this degree of pain I can’t escape.

But you don’t.

You show me trees and leaves and shine light through the breeze and make fire in the branches with rays from the expanse of your power.

And I’m tired. But I’ll wait.

How long? How long until you shine your face in full and I don’t have to see you through metaphor?

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