This game played by life,
The horrific waiting set in motion, forced upon each
individual.
The most unbearable.
News from kind ghosts with coats come bearing the
unfortunate.
All ears shut out the words not wanting what is true to be
heard.
Though truth has always been known to the broken hearted,
News still widens the cracks.
Familiar sad faces gather before one beloved.
Little hope with high faith encumbers the beloveds prison.
From the familiar faces the prisons clear walls still fall
dark.
This waiting game sickening each individual,
With little hope and high faith,
Each takes the hand of the one beloved,
Bestowing warm hearted moments in which each carry.
This waiting game grows longer and more painful. 
To not know the precise time of our beloveds end.
Little hope and high faith is all that lingers in each
individual.
All must join and take the hand of our shared beloved.
Believing in what has always been believed in.
Each will soon know peace when high faith takes our beloved
to her new place.
This waiting game shall rest unprevailed,
Ended with the victory of little hope and high faith.