Yellow Backdrop (I'd be Waiting)

In this place of darkness,
I’d be waiting.
Through the starkness of desolation’s furnace,
whether people would be future or future would be people,
whether rooms can get smaller or bigger,
I’d still be waiting.
I’ll be waiting even if it means imprisonment,
I’ll be waiting even if ivory tusks
bore through the darkness of my enigma.
I’d be waiting even if it means insane solid confinement.
I can go through miles of galaxies or blackholes,
I can walk across the fields of daffodils
and red burns of roses,
I can drink gore and savor torture,
enjoy the everyday violence and even spear myself
of the Pyramid Head’s hell... I’ll still be waiting.
I will never be sure, and I may never ever,
I may see rooms of larks and crescents of drunken twilight,
of the horizons and medieval canopies of snow and autumn,
I may drown myself with nicotine patches and xeric drinks,
I may find myself wandering amidst social possibilities...
But I’d still be waiting.
I’ll be waiting even if mantras become whispers spoken
to haunt people like it never used to.
I’ll be waiting even if rebirth wanders
the mystical wheels of time and space and miracles.
I’ll be waiting even if words collide, even if poems
become shenanigans of people to express political and social mockery.
I’ll be waiting until frantic rhymes with optimism,
until the winds become the waters.
I’ll be waiting even if it means alternate
realities of metal and nature.
I’ll be waiting until I come out with gray tresses and yellow eyes.
I’ll be waiting even if it means knocking on heaven’s door.

In this place of darkness,
I’ll be waiting.
Through the starkness of desolation’s furnace,
whether people would be people
and future would be past,
I’d still be waiting.
I can go on and on with words
and I can start making verses all over again...
You may never come but I’d still be waiting.