Whisper

A whisper of wind against my face,
The breath of a cold man, a dead man
Who once walked among us.

We await so silently,
Though the noise is deafening,
Cries of pain matched with an impending calm,
The sound of our time running out.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A whisper of wind against my face,
As the line is moving,
The queue diminishing until we know,
We know that all will be over soon.

All we have endured will end,
With the last intake, the final breath,
The breath of a cold man, a dead man,
Who we soon will walk among.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Not long to go now,
Scarcely a moment to waste,
A breath not to take, for we know,
We know that all will be over soon.

The end is no longer feared,
It is our final moment now, our moment of wait.
Our time has run out,
Our time for execution has come.

Tick.

A whisper of wind against my face,
The breath of a cold man, a dead man,
Who we now walk among.