“I’ll believe it when I hear . . . ”

I admit it. I was stumped for last week’s prompt from Poetic Asides. We were suppose to write a poem with this title:
“I’ll believe it when . . . ”

Everything I thought of was incredibly boring or simply dumb. Just like that last sentence. There are imaginings that are brilliant and there are those that belong in the trash. I blame it all on my toothache. So, five days and one dentist appointment later, here it is:

“I’ll believe it when I hear . . . ”

your footprints recede
in the sand;

when your final steps fade
like evening,

then I’ll believe
you have finally heard me,
then I’ll believe that letting go
has become your new passion
of control;

and only then will I be free
to bask in my solitude

without fear.

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