Boundaries

call out my name,

across the dark, forlorn waters

of this raging swamp,

and I will hear,

I will come;

outside the storm rages on,

as children die

slow lonely deaths,

while inside,

it is business as usual;

time makes everything

temporary, obsolete,

in their well-defined universe,

they lie trapped,

by limits and invisible boundaries

they can never cross;

we are all terminally ill,

in this terminal world,

waiting for a cure

which will never come;

but still we wait

just the same.

.

.