Spectator

I wonder where you will be when the dust settles,

When the cobwebs are littered with the speckled remnants

Of old memories longing to be forgotten.

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Will you be out in the forest,

Waltzing with the breeze to the tune of rustling leaves?

Will you be tucked behind the shed,

Cowering behind the red slats and trembling?

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I can envision you, like some fever dream,

Propped up on a pedestal, preserved like an ancient Czar,

When the masses come knocking,

Screaming incoherent complaints and broken memories.

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Glued to the stage, mouth agape, tongue draped dumbly

Across your lips with the words you choked on,

I can see you up there,

Unmoving. Glassy-eyed.

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And I can them too, huddling around the center stage

With muddy dogs at their feet and rats in their hair.

Hushed whispers grow to raucous laughter

Until a weak cheer erupts and seizes them all.

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The mountains have moved behind you,

Opening a wide slot on the horizon

Where pale sunlight and millions of angry rioters

Stream through without restriction.

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Their rage rumbles through the soil and their cries

Stain the white skies dark as they approach.

I wonder where you will be when this dust settles.

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Silver Serpent Books

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