#321 On the edge of my seat
On the edge of my seat
I wait
I stress
And ask the fates out of this mess
On the edge of my seat
I never sit
But hiss and miss
On the edge of my seat
I strike and fight
To the gnarly bite I hide
On the edge of my seat
The song sings
While I wait for the bells to ding
On the edge of my seat
My wait ends
And in its place fate bends
For it clearly knows its place
And from within the window of grace
The seat sits and the edge slits
For on the edge of my seat
The word never comes
And the waiting never runs.
Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~
I really enjoyed how one simple image carries the whole poem. The edge of the seat becomes more than a place—it becomes a way of living through uncertainty, hope, and expectation. The closing heartbeat brings the cycle quietly back to life. Beautifully written.