The Waiting Room

Cracked walls demand that the silence within them
Maintains itself, contains itself
In this the Waiting Room
A stubborn silence
That pretends not to be moved by the echoes of time
It is shattered with the ravages of unnatural system
The paint now scraped by age. Reminiscent even
Of a wind sweeping your face
Though a lot of time is captured
Doubt is not intent
That door is closed it is not locked
The key mislaid with purpose
The light is hung with potential
Although the switch is off
Inspirations bell has rung
Though silence was the price
Echoes still remain
Touching the walls, embracing
Silence and the past
The cracks will let the future fall

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