Too Many

There are. Too many pictures. Snippets of other lives and other times. I scroll down. But they follow me. Littering my piano top. I flip the page. But other images slip in. And take their place. Friends posing for the camera. Weary with smiles too wide and colors too bright for shadow dwellers. I cannot look.

There are. Too many people. Crying for attention or merely crying. I shut my eyes. But the light seeps in. Damaging my retinas. I shut my ears. But the voices will not cease. Shattering my ear drums. Humanity's dying gasp. Filtered through the defibulating heart of someone who once cared. I cannot help.

There are. Too many angels. Balanced precariously on the pin's head. I fold my hands. But my fingers still twitch. Wrinkled and arthritic. I bend my knees. But they fight the pew. Cramping from calf to heel. Deity's last prayer. Visited as acid rain upon the head of an unrepentant sinner-saint. I cannot believe.

There are. Too many questions. Left unaddressed and unanswered. I turn my head. But no one raises their hand. The class is dumb. I purse my lips. And the vacuum of space. Swallows my words. Cold matter's final pronouncement. Proclaims that history isn't a sieve, but an impenetrable wall. I cannot grieve.