The Waiting Room

Sat there
staring at the walls.
There were others,
strangers to me.
Rarely did our glance meet

Oft I wondered
is there a story to them?
Was it like mine?
A comfort
I was not alone?
Or not?
Did it matter?

Pierced eyebrows
Dark shades
Painted eyelids
can't hide
the tug-of-war
between
expectations and despair.

Hope beckoned
like the will-o-the-wisp.
There a moment,
Gone the other.
Then one left the crowd
to face the verdict.
I sat there
Waiting my turn.

Oft I wondered
is there a story to them?
Was it like mine?
A comfort
I was not alone?
Or not?
Did it matter?

Hands held in a tight clasp,
Faces turned away.
Some pondering over a magazine,
An echo - the very turn of a page.
Silent acknowledgements,
Pounding hearts,
Whispers here and there.

The door opened.
Some heads turned
to read a sign.
Some slouched,
Some confident strides.
Regardless
a cautious hope
a shattered hope
within.












Difficult to fathom
A story to each of us
in the
Waiting room