The Waiting Line

The slight sound of chattering speech filling my ears.
The muggy smell of dirt mixed with cheap cleaning materials,
The aroma is likened to the fragrance of a used wet mop.
Eyes within each face expressing discontentment, and they glance back and forth unable to stop.
Slowly I move forward, my patience grows thin.
Taking short steps, one by one, yet I still can’t see the end.
What am I doing here?
Who did I come to see?
Should I stay or should I leave?
I know, I came here to wait… my present calling is to wait in this line.
When will I be called?
Be patient…
I’m tired of listening to this noise,
Be patient…
I’m tired of standing,
Be strong until the end.
I don’t want to be here, yet here I am still waiting… and here I shall be.


Poem by Jason P.

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