Sterile room full of falsehood drains the youth from my face.
The mind drifts away but the prison remains.
Can, I recall all of the wasted hours. Always in a line march the drones, but this is our prescribed life. The laughing clock points it's hands as if ridiculing my very thoughts. Lunch, traffic, store, phone,game, bathroom, office so many moments. Someone will wait for my funeral to start, and wait again for the burial, wait to bring flowers to my grave. And some will wait for the new babe to be born, others for messiah. I am waiting for the nurse to call my son's name, and I will wait to hear that he is in good health, so that we can have a brief respite from the all life's weights and waits and laugh once again.