The Eighty-Second Transient.

There she stood,
On the foggy border of
Transience and Paradise.
The former not quite behind her,
And the latter not quite ahead.
She could see in the distance
The shores of Jordan,
More than foggy in the distance.
Resistance to emptiness had destroyed her full-ness.
She stood there
Surrounded by empty chairs.
Eighty one to be exact.
Eighty one travelers who had
Waited their turns
And crossed the distant border
Never to come back.
But they had left her
Alone,
Waiting,
Infinitely longing
For the day of entrance
For her,
The Eighty-second transient.

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