The passing of time ends in martyrdom 

I have been a martyr since seven am.

Five hundred steps trod by a medium-sized foot from Hell to Home

One hard labor-filled day's worth of patience to determine who I am.

 

She said "They will come in the afternoon".

Not precise enough to keep my hand and mind steady. 

I push the minutes as the hours dawdle; He whispers: "Soon..."

"It's afternoon! Where are they? You know, in some countries it's tomorrow already."

 

Feet kick the floor, hands shake convulsively 

Heart ticks faster as that ponderous fiend, stops pacing and starts to dance!

He's nervous too, mumbles something like "It's a dimension actually..." 

He doesn't understand "I don't care. I just want the bloody wait to be proportionate for once."