The Wait Poem by Lone Dog

I lay upon the couch
Waiting for the call
That I know will never come.
The call that could transform
My life into the golden hues
Of endless happiness and joy;
Happiness built upon
A relationship of caring and love
Between two fellow beings.
But that call will never come
And I know it.

Oh, the long and dreary hours
And days and weeks and years
I've spent waiting for that call!
Time not spent in useful endeavour
But in a listless, sedentary wait;
A wait that has sapped my energy
And robbed me
Of a useful and productive life.
What waste! What tragedy!
A life consumed and crippled
By a wait for that
Which will not come.

The wait began
Even as a youth,
Though the eagerness and excitement
Caused by the challenges
Of approaching adulthood
Numbed my senses so that it
Was unrecognizable.
From time to time, though,
I would experience within my soul
A feeling of deep emptiness or
Loneliness and despair.
I knew then that there was

Something missing in my life,
But I couldn't get a handle on it.
I didn't know what it was.
But I know now.
Oh, how I know!

How I envy the people around me
With homes and families and normalcy!
It's the way it should be for me
But the way it cannot be -
Robbed, at birth, by a hypothalamus
Too small;
Relegated to wait for a relationship
That could never come.

And yet I am certain that
Somewhere, out there, in that
Mass of happiness and suffering,
There must be an individual, like me,
Who is lonely and who, too,
Has a heart large enough to care
And love.

So I search and I search and
I wait and I wait and
I wait and I wait.
I wait for a relationship that
I know will never come.

Then, after my long and fruitless wait,
When Death comes knocking
At my door,
I will open it gladly to Him.
For though He's not the friend
I've waited for,
He will show me kindness by ending
My useless wait.