waiting room poems

i wrote some poems at the start of the quarter while waiting to get a cut on my hand sewn up...they were written in boredom and with touches of sarcasm, i kind of just think they are interesting pieces that really are only worthy of a fun read and maybe a little analysis, anywho...

waiting room 1

“Do you use recreational drugs?”
Yes, all of them.
It began with beer, but in short time it was gin
I didn’t care about what it was, as long as it made me grin,
It especially didn’t matter when people deemed it a sin.
It wasn’t long till I was over that stuff,
It played with my mind and made philosophy tough.
I wanted flowers and songs, floating high above.
I figured it would make everyone care only about love,
I guess I should have known,
That too much of anything forces you to loose touch.
So now we are sitting here,
Looking at a world leaning on a crutch.
They called it medicine to help people feel sane.
To me it looked like clear liquid that would never touch the brain.
All I knew was that it was another stupid part of the game.
I sit here hoping my fate is not the same.
How often does a man need to be told what to take?
The stuff they put me on is going to make me break.
It all feels like some giant restrain,
Each one of them pills is making me wait.
All I ask is, you let me take a shot,
And not from that gin you bought,
I would prefer to feel the clouds beneath my feet,
Let my breath run free,
Like a wind blowing through the trees.
All I really want to do is please.

waiting room 2

“It’s going to be awhile,” she said.
“I hope you can rest your head.”
I told her it was, I had no commitments in the mean time.
But what I was feeling, was that the longer I sat there, the more I would lose my mind.
The floor was like many I had seen.
The chairs and the nurses all just complemented the scene,
Some guy was sitting there without any bondage or disease.
I don’t know what he told the doctor, but to me he was merely weak in the knees.
Behind me I heard some conversation
“I am so disgusted to be a part of this nation!”
“Well we are pretty lucky, don’t you think?”
“Say what you want. But I just can’t stand this place! I need a drink.”
It seemed funny to me they didn’t want to know, why this guy in front of us was putting on a show.
He was ranting about why he was mad,
All I could figure was that somewhere inside he was sad.
To me there was nothing a doctor could give,
He was going to have to leave this wretched room, and just try and live.
Behind the desk I saw a different scene,
Everybody was content to play their part in this scheme,
They were smiling and laughing while just across the way, there was a group of ailments,
That ranged from nothing, to affairs that would last for days.
All they wanted to do was sleep.
An order that made everyone able to sleep.
They prided themselves on being the enchanted, and one of a kind.
That only made me question the idea of unique blindness,
Because to me that was what made them so proud and happy all the time.
How many times they had heard “thank you,”
I figured left them immune to making certain they received appreciation,
When it was their turn.
The mark they left on most was a burn.
Being a part of such a machine caused me to long for the day ahead,
When to me the machine could be dead.
When the soft rain would nourish the soil,
And the gentle touch of sunlight would be all that was necessary to settle any turmoil.
“Please come in,” I heard
And soon I was done waiting,
I was now moving along with the herd.

-jared a muscat