The line moves imperceptibly
Blind to the naked eye
Shuffling in perfect rhythm
Like trains on a track
Waiting for the sign to move
Impatiently they stir
Those ants in a row
Black-suited for show
With their hollow eyes
And yellow-jacket smiles
Their voices rise in pitch
Unintelligible staccato
With anger undisguised
Staring straight into the night
Past identical bodies
Painted in dark shadows
Holding numbers up high
Illuminated in moonlight
And a will to survive
They slide up one by one
Like interlocking pieces
On their way to nowhere.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 