Patience is not a virtue.
At least that's what the boy had believed.
Despite being told the opposite he'd thought a bit,
understood reality moved regardless if he thought his choices were free.
The problem isn't cosmic drift, it's
the Grand Comic's bit about the universe expanding until apocalypse...
And he considers himself an optimist.
From a very young age he had questions regarding consciousness.
Waiting for answers weren't part of his parents' promises.
His father did not permit anything but an agnostic twist
to an age old argument: "No one can ever know, therefore, God exists."
Puzzled, the boy struggled, encroaching upon logic's limits,
consulted scholar after scholar, Religious thinkers and Scientists;
and concluded that even the world's foremost geniuses have extreme biases.
He wondered about Time's condition,
from atomic clocks that tick to Einstein's persistence,
that space conforms to Mind and perception is just petty acceptance of environment.
So the boy drafted a letter: "To the Children Who Wait..."
Entitled with a kind ellipse to capture the resilience of Fate.
In fact, that's the concept he started with:
"Fate is fascination with certain uncertainty. Not faith
just the acceptance that if we wait things will never work perfectly.
Purpose seems to buckle under the weight of philosophical urgency,
and conceptions of the End become brilliant obstacles and recurring themes.
Beauty and Goodness, Platonic forms and Promised War:
We wait regardless if they choose the pen and not the sword.
We wait for harvest, fruits of labor or Confucian favor,
or Buddhist wayward progression away from the abuse of flavor.
Pleasure without an epicenter where the youngest reside,
waiting like the Man who just turned one hundred to die.
Waiting like, for the bus, or a ride, to get plucked like a fly
and plunge from the sky... or the stubborn depressed
waiting for the comfort to cry.
Patience is not a virtue, I believe that's taught to hurt you
into thinking that if you wait for an answer it oughtn't curse you.
Patience is just another means to get caught in an awful circle
of thought we turn to only to struggle distraught:
there's enough love lost for one soul, not to mention an Earth full."
He dropped his pen to the floor, shaking as if in the purview of Proof
and still went about his life, in continued pursuit of the Truth.