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Where Is My Patience?

Patience is a virtue

By Colleen Millsteed Published 3 years ago 2 min read
12
Where Is My Patience?
Photo by Norma Contreras on Unsplash

Heart is racing

Foot is tapping,

Arms crossed

Time is lacking.

***

I detest being late

For any reason,

Waiting on my ride

Triggers my demons.

***

Glance at my watch

Minutes ticking by,

Stress is rising

Trying not to cry.

***

Patience my girl

Just a small wait,

Patience is gone

I’m going to be late.

***

Pacing the room

Checking the time,

Talking out loud

Voicing my mind.

***

Starting to believe

They’ll never arrive,

Did I book it wrong

Or should I drive?

***

Grabbed my keys

Heading out the door,

When they arrive

Hearing engines roar.

***

Rush to the door

Slip quickly inside,

Tell them to hurry

Drive, just drive.

***

Caught in traffic

No this is not true,

At a standstill

No way through.

***

Again checking time

Heart still racing,

Knees jumping

Patience chasing.

***

Settle my girl

We’re on the move,

Pull up to the front

My mood diffused.

***

Pay the driver

Evacuate the car,

Race in the door

Slightly late you are.

***

In the very end

A great night all told,

No consequence

Not in your control.

***

Thinking back

On this very night,

It’s not important

You’re late alright.

***

So learn this lesson

Patience is a virtue,

Anxiety unnecessary

Just stressed you.

***

With patience

You’d still be late,

You’d be calmer

Which is great.

***

No need for stress

When patience found,

No racing heart

Or nervous frown.

***

Remember this lesson

Next time you’re late,

No intense emotions

Just patiently wait.

*********************

If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

****

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

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Originally posted on Medium

inspirational
12

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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