Reflections of My Perceptions
the waiting room
This poem is dedicated to my grandfather, Vincent Valentine Phillibert
i miss you, Vincent
but i do not cry for those long days and night
spent wondering, hoping, wandering
through coridoors of emotions, hopelessly lost
caught up in suspense, confined by guilt to that space
not knowing if this would be the last time
our last visit on your behalf
and for a while its walls became all too familiar
into my mind their every pattern etched
and i began to know the cardiologists by name
if not, i certainly recognized them by face
but it bought the family together
for once, all could stand side by side
differences cast away into the sea of tears
sometimes anxiety would worry us to sleep
i would fight to stay up to hear good news
but my heart would feel too heavy,
i grew weary from the weight
i miss you, Vincent
but i do not cry for those long days and night
spent wondering, hoping, wandering
through coridoors of emotions, hopelessly lost
caught up in suspense, confined by guilt to that space
not knowing if this would be the last time
our last visit on your behalf
and for a while its walls became all too familiar
into my mind their every pattern etched
and i began to know the cardiologists by name
if not, i certainly recognized them by face
but it bought the family together
for once, all could stand side by side
differences cast away into the sea of tears
sometimes anxiety would worry us to sleep
i would fight to stay up to hear good news
but my heart would feel too heavy,
i grew weary from the weight
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the waiting room
the waiting room
