Black Hole

Many lived there
but none moved.
All dripped wet
but none felt it.

They wore a 
'what if' mac
and sat under an
'if only' umbrella.

The mac was all
but a flimsy whim;
the rain drowns it
with a floating illusion.

The umbrella was all
but a skeletal regret;
the rain drenches it
with a shroud of hope.

What if the rain is to stop?
Would then they move or
still remain in inertia of mere
existence and denial of life