Hospital corridors.

Hospital corridors.

Wild is the wind that blows,

Even on a still day.

Along busy corridors

Blank faced people wait,

As life and death

Sweeps by

Incognito,

Bowling over the chosen,

Nothing random about it,

People fall

Like leaves in a storm,

No matter how beautiful

It looks,

The flight has a crushing end

And ashes are ashes

After all.

Dispersed by sadness

Grief washes the memory

Of living away,

As lives are locked

In a box

With no key,

Only opened

In the event of rebirth

That can be a still birth,

As the wind changes

And choices are made.

Without accounting

For balance

Lives are weighed

Feather light

Against the on rush.

The labyrinthine

Blank

Passage of time,

Relentlessly

Carried by its silent thief,

The wild wind.