Just Wait...

...for inspiration to strike...

Let's try this again then:
so hopefully the verbal torrent,
sputtering, splashing, raining, dashing,
falling from precipitous edificial flashings;
vertigo of a passive mental acting, laughing,
falling, smiling, cringing, crying;
making up for the hot-town's dying,
living for the word that's hardly worth implying,
one that once it's said, renews the predatory flying,
reborn in a wave of flames,
hunting, lunging, waiting, enraging.
Will it see or is it ready to be forgotten,
hosting the thief and what's been brought to him -
let him grin,
let him leer,
show him his place,
and leave him there.
Serenity and soundness,
beliefs to be renown,
can't wait for him to see them now,
posted where such was left to him,
solely to be reclaimed,
confused, untamed,
Let loose to disrupt all that's been laid,
glass and stone and foundational grit,
mortar and grout and functional bricks.
Can he see it now, the monument before him?
Does he see it once, twice, thrice, enrolled in?
Has he caught on to the the disparate flair,
jousting and jumping, landing on what wasn't there?
Master of ceremonies, dedicated to a fall,
leaps of faith, breaking an engine stall;
to the stopped spin of a propeller blade,
until the sun shines down on the solitary glade,
made dark by the impending shade,
hoped for heart but that nothing is made.
Wait for it then...
Just wait...
But to what end?

To what end?!