The Waiting Room.

Waiting is acknowledgement
A realisation of denial
Introspection that does silent watch
The puppets play in the lawns outside
Their light strings like shining smiles
Painted plastered so they never knew
The parched songs that hum our lives
You can pick up it's groaning buzz
A disquietude that runs along
Palpitations that on pavements walk
Measuring time and it's seconds brief
Weaving along; in webs coy homes
To be united is to be lost.