the land of untold stories

I look around and all I see is stillness, as if, at some point in history, bewildermen fell upon the nation, like a poisonous fog, and it never left 

a place where time does not move, and even its demons are stationary, waiting for something, that has no intention of coming 

the silence is deafening and everyone is on the cusp, of saying something, of telling their story, but the time never comes

and so they stay, waiting for a moment, that is not destined. never moving, never growing, never living