Waiting For Morning (Poetry of the Apocalypse #1)

Brick and steel

cannot be expected

to separate or divide our interest.

Two lives,

destine to collide,

are waiting to be realized.

Hollow trees, abandoned wells,

remnants of a town long gone;

are signals for dark quiet nights to come.

The nightingales are screaming on their branches

and I watch them nervously from a distance.

For a long time there has been no one,

But I know it is only a matter of time.

Soon, you will come. With your will

and promises

to either save or destroy me.