Empty Poem by James Fitzpatrick

Nothing. Just a clear sky on a dulling day. A deserted street with waving flags on painted posts. The regimentation of complete uniformity. The lack of empathy in silent sorrow.

I march to where they are buried in a dark graveyard of black nodding heads, painted with wide staring eyes, and grimacing teeth. I have taken a backward step to move me forward on a sinking bog, squelching, climbing to who knows where.

I am lost in an abyss of advice as to what to do. I am without experience. My sage gone, sits on the shoulder of the unknowing and ill prepared, to guide the fool. They had reached the point of where they could go no further, so I must work back to meet them, or wait here for nothing to arrive.