Easter

No one is left here.
Oh vernal equality has
Driven them
Elsewhere, and
Opened up
Premium parking
Opportunities for
My dear Van Gogh
And me.
It is too quiet. The
Echoes of my solitary
Voice reverberate
Uninhibited down
Every lonely hallway.
However, some still do remain.
Alas, they are but
Propped-up
Flesh mannequins, who
Should be lying in
God's acre somewhere
Waiting for
Armageddon.
So, now I wait in the
Plurality of
Constructed and
Organic breath,
Waiting
For the "Waters of
Nazareth" to
Shatter the

Silence...

If only for
Her ride
Home.