I'm still waiting
to be smart enough
not to say anything stupid
with the voice I've been given.
A voice I was born with,
yet others paid the bill.
All these years silent,
as the mocking time
passed by, eroding opportunity,
down to its finest and most invisible
elements.
Yet still I await this perfect moment,
when the words will come,
perfectly poetic,
fantastically philosophical,
cutting and insightful,
to be referred back to
in time yet to come,
by voices yet to be formed.
I watch, I judge, I listen,
I criticise:
I could have said it better,
I could have done it better,
I could have made it better.
Not bitter,
just honest.
My critique of all the things
I did not do,
as I sat still, waiting,
for the perfect moment,
and the perfect words
for the perfect action.
I have not wasted my time,
I have been very busy,
doing nothing particularly useful
or productive
or necessary.
Only living and passing time
as time passes me.
And by the time I get to say what needs to be said
it will not be too late.
It will not be passed time for saying what was
never said.
No.
In that perfect moment, yet to come,
all the threads will come together,
artfully and philosophically,
and with a voice that all will hear,
agree with and nod along to,
I will say what I've been waiting for so long
to say.
But, until that moment occurs,
I will sit here,
waiting,
until I am smart enough
not to say something stupid.
