They keep looking for him

to return with a shout
and an airborne embrace
for those who have held
true through all the
Gethsemanes of doubt
and fear that have rippled
through their kind
for so many expectant
centuries.
But I'm betting
his return won't be
in a blaze of triumphant
glory that overwhelms
us with the blinding light
of the earth-melting divine.
If it comes at all,
it will come as a quiet
arm around the heart,
one by one,
and the realization that
what matters
isn't whether the clouds part
and the angels sing
and the seals open,
but whether we
see a six year old
with
The Thousand Yard Stare
on his face
and say,
"Enough."