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Nothing Crowd MAG
The crowds gathered around the lagoon-like fountain,
Waiting for their lives to begin, hoping no more sins.
Disciplined by walking feet and troubled minds,
In demand of bright lights and shining smiles.
Yet no one offered a cup of resolution or reason,
No definition for the moon or the sun.
Transfixed on glorious blood trickling down the pipe lines,
Where the dogs drink their water under cobbled walls.
Faces fixated on a fear that is invisible to a child,
Ambushed by horror and oblivious to freedom.
The crowds continued to stare at the dry and empty pool,
Scaled with lime and moss, forests of mud and unreadable bodies.
Unidentified in a world where we are pinned as numbers,
Buried in the deep pits of the forgotten.
As we stand in our crowd, glued as one in the remaining heat
That we care to bear. Pondering on the last memories,
Of better days and stronger hours in a field of flowers,
With undiminished giggles that surfaced the windows and
Made pictures through the condensation.
All we are is nothing, but everything of nothing.
We are the remaining.