There is the very old story about the man imprisoned in a dungeon cell who waits for years to be released from his confinement so he can see and feel the sunshine, and the moonshine, and the joyous fresh air he yearns for so intensely. Many, many years into his solitary confinement he suddenly is struck by a brand new idea. He goes over to the heavy wood-and-iron door of is cell and pushes on it. The door opens outward. Frightened at what he has done, he looks out into the subterranean corridor outside to check for the scary prison guards, but there is no one there...or in any part of the prison. There never have been any guards there. For all of those desperately long, lonely, and miserable years, the only person who had imprisoned him was himself. The door was open all the time...all he had to do was push on it and then walk free.

So often in our lives we make prisons for ourselves, then we confine ourselves to lonely and miserable dungeon cells, but always, always the only jailer is ourselves, and we are the only ones who can set ourselves free. No other person can release the bonds that we have imposed on ourselves, because what we have freely chosen for ourselves cannot be unchosen by anyone but ourselves--yet, despite our apparent shackles, we always retain the ability to push on the cell door we have created for ourselves and then walk free, into the light of the sun, and the moon, and into the warmth and security of welcoming arms and a loving heart who beats as ours and yearns for us as much as we yearn for them.

Maybe the name of the person in your poem has already been called many, many, many times but has not been heard through the heavy wood-and-iron door, yet only one thing needs to happen before four arms entwine and two hearts reunite with each other to beat as one. "Together forever, a loving couple."

Only one thing: push on the door and then walk free.

Right into the safe haven and love that has been waiting patiently (or maybe sometimes impatiently) to be acknowledged and claimed.

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Very deep stuff you wrote there. I was trying to convey in the poem that the one stuck in the waiting room is there because there is no one to call out their name. As for my own prison it is the same. The door is locked only because I do not have the key. They key is hidden by my insecurity but is very slowly revealing itself to me as I begin to remove that cloak from me. Then I can open the lock and perhaps find someone to call my name though I believe it's next to impossible. At least though I will be free from my prison.

Sometimes we discover that our name has been called over and over and over again, but we just haven't yet been able to hear--or else we willfully chose not to hear for whatever reason we might once have had.

Being free from the prison is good...and finally, after all the loneliness and misery and despair we have endured, accepting the solace, the enduring love, and the happiness that is ours to claim is far, far better.

Your good wants you every bit as much as you want it. Godspeed on your journey to your own deepest fulfillment.