by Debi Swim

What am I waiting for…
a sign from heaven,
a Joseph to explain my dreams,
angels to wrest me to the floor,
a golden key to a magic door?

What am I waiting for…
magi from afar to confirm,
a message written in flames,
wisdom from some ancient lore,
entrails speaking from the gore ?
All my life it seems I’ve waited
for the right age
the propitious time
the impeccable person
as though I’m fated

some grand destiny of being.
All I’ve done is allow
things to happen to me
even now I timidly wait
for something to happen.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I wish I had been a brave, adventurous soul, but I was always timid and unsure of myself, thus this poem is biographic in that I feel I’ve let life happen rather than take it by the coattail and pull it where I wanted. So my late rebellion is writing poetry. It feels good to take charge.

IMAGE: “Psyche Entering Cupid’s Garden” by John William Waterhouse (1903).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Debi Swim lives in West Virginia with her husband and a Yorkshire terrier. She is mother of three and grandmother of six boys. Debi loves to write, read, and shop at used bookstores