The same shade-smeared smudge has resided,
there for two months now. Each day,
I pass.

I motioned once, suggesting some humanity remains,
Eulogising the Deceased with pleas for its
abdication; never
Again.

To me though, a shift is merely futile
expectation,
that - just for a moment - dead-eyed shirts may diverge;

Resist slicing the crimson ribbon
and instead preside over change.
But not; rather they'll trudge and mumble waiting,
for those relentless fingers to grasp the
Inevitable.

An arbitrary pre-determined self
-inflicted destination.
Is that what led Him here?