In the Waiting Room

I’m in the waiting room, where the fallen have not only wounds of physicallity, but of the mind as well. How long will we all wait? Only time will tell. My impatience turned to understanding, when the light bulb came on, me only wounds of the mind and spirit, not lungs burned by unseen chemicals, not joints racked with pain, from agent orange arthritis. Not only should I choose to chill about the wait, shouldn’t I really sacrifice my place in line to others of life’s crueler fate. I don’t sense an abundance of hope, just men waiting for their legal dope.How could their spirits be possibly lifted? Someone new on the staff, a paradigm shift gifted.