Patience is the Javelin

Patience is the javelin
in my heart
that struck just
before time slowed.

The magic is fixed,

and I know I must endure

the excruciating advancement

of a stone point through my chest.

It cannot be wrenched away.

It cannot be held in place.

All must go on without

interference;

and all the while, I must

feel each tiny variation of torn

flesh.

I know what I’ve inflicted;

it’s what will follow that

I can’t be sure of. 

Will medic or friend

be there to bind the wound

when time starts again?

Have I made my own end?