for what is there to do
but wait.

wait for the day
when the
inevitable
sweeps us up
like shards of misery
and discards of us,
broken pieces
no one wants to touch.

in a world
where sun don’t shine,
and rain don’t fall,
and nothing moves at all,

what is there to do

but hope
against hope,
without hope,
that the day
in which the
stillness
takes us,
comes soon.

because at least in
hell,
the fires burn
to keep the darkness
away.