Written by  //  February 15, 2011  //  WRITING & POETRY  //  No comments


I feel like I am sitting in the small

Waiting room at a doctor’s office.

Close, pale walls crowding me,

Making me want the waiting to end.

I’m waiting for something to happen.

I am waiting for it to happen,

But I can’t make it happen any sooner.

And so, there is nothing to do but sit

And wait.

And read tattered magazines

That have already been read

Many times before,

By others.

There are others

Sitting next to me;

Across from me

In this awkward room.

And they wait too.

Soon a woman will come

And usher me down a hallway

And into an even smaller room.

Where I can then wait


Or she will come and ush someone else.

We do not know.

And so we wait,

And will continue to wait

Until our name is called.


Call my name.

For this waiting,

This tiresome waiting,

Is beginning to eat at

My Soul.

And it won’t be too

Much longer

Before I waste away and become

nothing more

than a memory

of this little room.

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