The Waiting Room

Emptied for the day,
its chairs vacant,
this silent witness waits.
And, as the last rays
of the setting sun
flood the space,
a stillness descends –
a lacuna in the matrix of life –
broken tomorrow by tears
of bitterness or delight,
for mortality is most prized
when corporality is in danger
of falling to the carrier of the scythe.


Written for NaPoWriMo
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