Some will sit as though nothing’s new,
staring at the constant sky.
I confess that I’ve done so too
and held the lie.
Some will wait for what does not come
and think that waiting is divine.
Some will fall and some will run
until the time.
Yet in the terminal of souls
a voice cries out. What does it cry?
“Don’t you know?” it calls and calls.
Some will reply.
The Consolations of Writing 
Another great post! Keep up the great work.
Thanks!