Michael Boiano: Waiting to be Found

06 November 2019


So many waiting to be found:
the dead buried in unlikely places,
shallow graves, in unhallowed ground;
the living interred in pointless lives,
unknown, unsought, unmissed;
bored husbands and wives hoping to be found
by others who might love them more, for a time;
the religious waiting to be found by God
and rewarded for their faith;
gurus of one sort or another, waiting to be found
by devotees;
the destitute waiting to be found by the rich
who, in turn, are afraid of being found by the poor;
the lonely waiting to be found by soul mates
who never come;
children waiting to be found by parental approval.
Waiting on street corners,
waiting in our homes,
waiting on-line behind avatars,
waiting in office cubicles,
waiting at café tables hoping for someone to comment
on the book we’re reading,
waiting to be noticed,
waiting to be selected,
waiting to be identified as unique
in a world of sameness and cliché,
waiting while pretending
not to be waiting,
waiting to live and waiting to die,
at some point, either will do,
waiting for an explanation in the face of silence,
waiting for transcendence that is elusive,
waiting for answers that simply don’t exist.
waiting for courage,
waiting for rescue.
Waiting like shells on the beach,
some chosen, most passed by.
Waiting for a reason to hope,
but settling for a shopping spree.
And everything we do or say or even wear,
is done in anticipation of being found:
the living and the dead, the idle and the busy,
the melancholy and the cheerful,
So many waiting,
never found.

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