The Wait, of the World, on our Shoulders

The Wait, of the World, on our Shoulders

The waiting game

Cannot be willed by skill

Nor by strategy, a tragedy

For those who wait until

The day their praises are sung

The day the prize is won

Is such a day as certain

As the Moon after the Sun?

Food for thought, yes

Churning the cerebral cauldron

Of a melting pot of men

Who must shoulder this burden

Some men stagnate

And let Time burn

But his clocks will tick

And his hands will turn

And they will learn

They were mistaken

When the prize is no more

And can never be taken

Other men know better

Than to let Time run dry

New skills to learn

And new strategies to try

These cannot defy

The trundling of Time

But for now, at least

Waiting feels sublime

Though not in the prime

Of the lives they are leading

They need not crave victory

For knowledge is feeding

These ones are succeeding

In every endeavor

For they make the wait

Worth waiting forever

What is humanity

But the image of Sisyphus?

Bolder, you must stand

To reach your Mount Olympus

Written by Penn N. Teller, a 17 year old interested in the arts.