By the light of the window, pale and solemn, quiet, reticent,
She sat and gazed, the age-old tale of waiting, in this variant
Not for a lover or for change that was supposed to bring her hope–
No, but for something passing strange: a subtly altered isotope
Or subatomic shift of sorts that would reveal to her at last
That she was whole, and all reports that indicated in the past
She’d fallen, lost, or failed, or died were clearly false and incorrect;
That anything she chose or tried was incomplete in that respect–
What she awaited, delicate and silent in her ray of light,
Was just this news she ought to get: already she was fine, was bright,
Was loveable and brave and keen and capable as one could need
Or hope to be; by this I mean just that she was quite great indeed.
If you wait validation too, and sit in patience for the news
To be presented thus to you, get up! There’s not a breath to lose,
For simply knowing that your soul already harbors strength and worth
Is proof enough that you are whole; no greater treasure lives on earth:
Rise from the ashes of your fears, wake up from timid, silent gaze,
And race like a runner, months and years stuffed into the space of weeks, of days
Because your courage speeds and grows–leap forward! No more waiting: run!
And as joyful living overflows, you’ll find you were the awaited one.