Almost There

When will it end?
Too many missed moments have whiled away the days,
While we wait-for what?
Too many hours spent in languishing,
Languishing, and suffering: a muted kind with no glory.

The afternoon is golden.
The dust is floating in the light, out of the light.
There is a sweetness here, down in the waters, down in the reservoir of tears.
But it is a dark sweetness, too real to taste here.
We await your coming, O Lord.