There’s not much we can do.
You and I can only wait at this point.
All chances of a healthy outcome have passed,
This is the end, this is the time to begin mourning.
We try and prepare, make certain that our
own houses are in order.
It is difficult, we don’t know what awaits us
when She’s gone.
There are the quiet whisperings of
those gathered round the bed:
“Wasn’t she beautiful in her prime?”
“Remember that time when…..”
“She was the top of her class.”
Respectful admirations morph into
consoling observations as we struggle
to find a way to justify Her fall.
“She was bewitched by all that money,”
Someone said.
“It’s true,” agreed another and then,
“But there were those who were out to
get Her deliberately, She didn’t have a chance.”
This statement weighed heavy in the room,
we all knew it was precise.
With nothing left to say, we watched Her breathe
and knew that as Her death approached, so did the
death of life as we knew it.
We reflected, each to our own, about how we could have
changed things, what we would have done differently,
where we were lazy.
And each to our own, took a portion of responsibility
for the ending Her life.
Outside, the dogs of greed bark and yip
excitedly at the smell of Her imminent death.
They too, have been waiting but with
a different aspect.
Knowing Her power is nearly snuffed out,
They are anxious to overrun our towns
and de-civilize our streets.
Their increased energy is felt inside
the room of Her deathbed.
A quiet sob breaks from among one of the visitors,
As it’s noticed that Her breathing has become labored,
Not much longer.
If we say goodbye now, can She hear it?
If we tell Her we love Her, will She sense it?
If we say we’re sorry, so very sorry for Her demise,
will She forgive us?
We do it anyway, mostly to succor ourselves.
Because watching Democracy die is deeply painful,
and the grief that awaits when She does, even more so.
