Book Of Poems

The Waiting Room

This cold, damp, stale place
Surrounding me are chairs
I can see what was of families before me
Magazines littering coffee tables

Nurses at their posts
Watching, and taking note
At the weeping souls
Comfort is a far cry in here

Yet I sit so comfortably
When a family across from me
Has lost somebody
Another soul for this horrible place

Love ones evaporate in this lonesome place
Forever bound, never to escape
Never sitting alone in a waiting room.
Because souls of the dead sit with me.

Their breath cold as ice
They speak with me
Never to escape this horrible wing
Grasping my arm, pleading for me to stay

I can leave this horrible place
But they are chained here, irons clapped on their wrist
Before I left I saw a familiar face
My sister has joined this horrible place...