It’s here that life and death perhaps, weigh upon us, strangely still
So silently the twelve souls tick and measure snail-paced time
Until two more arrive to break the heartbeat of the ever waiting room
And so another joins and jolts us with her muted, half-heard voice
Not vital matters of the State but just an irksome quaver overheard.
Another, close by me, clicks her polished nails upon her shiny chair
In clicketty beat known only to her inner orchestra now grandly playing
Until she’s called, leaving the empty chair recovering from her form
Resuming life as a patient chair desiring to soothe, once more, another
As the twilight of time itself clicks on another notch with we who wait.