this is a rough work.
As time goes by our numbers only grow and we wait.
We wait for the day we can be at rest knowing it may never come.
For Providence, Sanity, and Hope.
We wait for the Impossible Trinity like children
waiting for their prize.
We watch them scurry like insects out into the light,
pretending to live while others hide in fear.
Hiding from an invisible enemy that burrows into family and friend and enemy alike.
An enemy hiding in lungs and breath and spit like gifts from brother death.
We watch as they take to the streets with their toy guns and misspelled signs and selfish shouts to shame a god they’d never recognize.
Give us our freedom.
Give us our rights
Give us our life.
Death laughing as it slips through their ranks and kisses each of them gently on their cheeks.
They’ll soon join us as we watch.
As we wait.
And we wait, lined up outside of the the gates of forever to be passed on from existence but until then, and then, and then…
For all of this to be real, so we can be quiet, and mourned, and dead.
Waiting until we can be laid to rest.
Waiting to be cried over and released.
Waiting for the peace of death.
Waiting for them.
As they fight, and scream, and cry into the void.
Doing everything but what they must to survive.
Drawing this out.
And adding to our ranks.
We are an army of the unforgotten dead.
Watching and waiting for the promised serenity of nothingness that never comes.
Powerless until this ends and they can let us go on.
Stranded at the gates of the hereafter until humanity can see beyond itself and let us finally be deceased.
So we wait and we wait and we wait and probably always will.