Beats

I count the hours, and the minutes too,
I count the very seconds in my heart,
The gaps between the beats are a tattoo
Of loneliness, inked in on every part
Of my unsilent soul. I cannot rest,
Even with the music of the time,
For if I pause, then in my waiting breast
The pressure of impatience starts to climb
And I can feel it ticking to explode.
So I keep busy, but I count it out,
Moment by moment, keeping safely stowed
My wide impatience, and the urge to shout
Soon, soon, I will be there. And it is soon.
I follow its slow, but expansive, tune.