Change

Windless, breathless, the rooms wheezes for something
the night can no longer hold. Anticipation mounts, and suppress
as we hold fingers outwards to a movement that will never come.
We know nothing, from the blind to the fallen we sit silently in this
hole. Anticipation spreads for thought, it bleeds for insight when
all is lost in this river of doubt.

The floor trembles as we gasp, its frightening, exhilarating,
the motion of the sound tickles my eye lids and reverberates for
an eternity. This leveling sound of peace, it moves by like a pulsating wave
and settles between our toes. Hope, it rolls over us as the night
seems to shift, and the stars dance between one another, catapulting
from one point to another like rocks across a pond.

Yet we stand screaming quietly with our mouth's wide opened, fist clinched,
and yet motion is halted by conformity, and we press tighter
into our box, into this room. Hope exits with the tides of the wind
and the branches of anticipation that once spread throughout
our veins, now retreats back into this hole where we once lay.
The sight of the could be's leave with the sound of the never was,
and now we sway diligently in this calm night, motionless
as one heart beat fades into another, and the river calms.

J.L. Copeland