The speaker is deeply in love with someone who does not return the feeling, and the whole poem circles around that imbalance. The opening lines state it plainly: "I am made for you," but the other person is not made for them. The slightly broken grammar ("You are don't made for me," "hopeness") makes the words feel raw, as if the speaker is struggling to say something that hurts.
What stands out is the kind of waiting described. The speaker compares it to a poor religious man waiting for Heaven, and to a suicidal person hoping the pain will go quiet. Both images suggest hope that is more like desperation than optimism. Even so, the speaker stays open, with arms wide, ready to offer warmth and asking for nothing but presence.
The mood is sad and tender, with a quiet resignation. The speaker knows the truth, that being someone's own doesn't mean they are yours, and loves anyway.