Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Waiting Game

During a recent update spree of my other site, Galleria di Cunningham, I took some time to appreciate my old pictures and writing.  It's interesting how you can go so long after creating something that when you see it again, it feels like someone else made it.  That's how I felt going through the old stuff; I was thinking, I did this?

My creative writing is what especially surprised me, because it's been so long since I've gotten to sit down and do it that I wouldn't even know where to start these days.  That's something I would like to change, but at least for the next little while I doubt y'all will be seeing anything new from me in that category.  So, I'm posting an old poem today because when I went back to read it I really liked it.  It's another one of those that feels like someone else wrote it, but it really speaks to me now and fleshes out what's been on my mind the past few days.

The Waiting Game
Nathan Cunningham

For a man who doesn’t drink,
You sure know how to start your day
With a headache that won’t go away.
It’s not right that you’d be used to it,
But I suppose that’s something best
Left to reason and no test.

But consider yesterday
When you retired prematurely,
Or so you thought it was too early–
For as you waited after nightfall,
Chance escaped without your knowing,
Though your vigil kept on going.

Return to when the candles,
The many candles melted time
Before their last gray ghosts would climb
And convince you that your wait was done,
That all your dreams had been in vain
And that you’d never dream again.

Think back to then, to what you did,
When finally your heart was broken,
And it would cling to just one token
Left long before this night had started.
You remember kneeling, don’t you?
I dare say it was all you knew.

Pray, my boy! And pray you must,
For only then will deity bless.
Pray for comfort and success
So that one is sure for you, at least.
It’s not a crime to try such tricks,
Or else that law would long be fixed!

It’s quite a challenge, I suspect
To fall asleep expecting for
Hope to just knock at your door.
Rest easy; it will come in time.
But you would rather keep the sorrow,
Thinking life will change tomorrow.

That’s your biggest problem, lad;
Your waiting game is just a game!
And when you fall you rush to blame
Any party you can think of,
Believing that would make things right,
While you, yourself, are out of sight.

But you know, this waiting thing,
It’s not a game. You’re wasting time!
You should know it’s no small crime
To wait and idle all at once.
Someday they’ll say, “Look at this lad!
“He could have had more than he had.”

Do you feel it’s been worthwhile
To let neglect lock every door
Your fortune opened once before?
And yet you play this waiting game!
I know not why they call it “play”
Or “game” when waiting does betray.

It’s not the life that you deserve,
So get up now, I do implore,
And put both feet upon the floor
Before they waste away without
Knowing what they could have done
To change the world, or anyone!

So let your headache pass with time,
And work, and growth, ambition full,
For then you’ll see to wait is dull,
And life is better when you’re up.
It translates to accomplishment,
And that, my friend, is time well spent.

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