The Missing People

This poem has been completely inspired by these images of "missing people" by Graham McIndoe 
via www.flavorwire.com


They are holed up in life,
Or freed in death?
Nobody knows.
They are the missing people.

The shadow of their identity,
Translated into paper,
With a pleading hope,
With a hopeful plead.
They are the missing people.

They are crushed, they are wrinkled,
They are creased,
They are in throes of winter,
They are the missing people.
Years go by, their skin doesn't age
Centuries multiply, they lie wide awake,
The posters wither, the skin dries up.
They are the missing people. 

They are the answers,
They are the rhetorical questions.
They rise like a duststorm,
And settle down into a pile of nothing.
They are the missing people.