I am a guitar string waiting to be plucked.
back and forth.
a pen to write on me.
I am a candle waiting to burst into flame.
When will it happen?
When will I see the clouds break?
When will the sun rain down golden drops
of life-sustaining energy upon the fields?
When will the baby shoots push their heads
above the soil?
When will the gates of heaven open?
When will the smile of God cause
every living thing to grow straight and tall?
Not before I am ready for it to happen.