Death In Walking Pose

I am the distance between one pole and the other; I am the space between our lips, The air that we forget to breath. Life here is full of vacancy and unkempt homes. Still smoke lingers in this space we call our own, Never changing the draft or the force of the flow. We are like death in walking pose A mirage of living souls. Hope would never live in such a place, So destitute and so desperately so alone. Here you must sit quietly Careful not to disrupt the sound of suffering. We need to hear those cries, We need to know all about such a deep despair. If you will not learn to come closer to one another You will live here to one day, listening to such songs.