Yelling At the Sky

It was always bound to find an end
For waiting only lasts as long
As time enough to find that what you're waiting for is gone

And If he were really there, he'd tell me
Surely
Not leave me
Hanging on to the faint hope that I had met him
In a puff of wind, or a strange sensation
A tingling in the spine
All these explained away
At least 'til theres some reason I should think
It's anything but reading in

And reading in is what a man does best
When he's beset with
Intercessory expectations
And no one gifted him with patience
Great enough to spend a lifetime
Yelling at the sky