Here we sit, a collection of souls
arranged in a line of easy chairs,
tended by three guardian angels
who cheerfully administer the poisons
we need for a few more months--
or perhaps a lifetime. Who knows?
Today the place is grimly quiet,
absent the brave chatter of other days:
some of us asleep, others simply still,
passing through hours we hope to forget,
with burdens seemingly difficult to share,
each of us poised over our fate in silence,
trying to measure the future
in dimensions of hope or despair.
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