When your waiting for something
does it much matter,
if the clock tics away,
or voices still chatter?

A minute a hour,
what's in between,
of all the time waiting
in moments unseen?

Anticipation makes all
the time still,
the worlds stops turning,
and waits until,

the moment comes,
to the point concieved,
by a willfull heart,
for what it believed.

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