A different kind of poetry, I figured I would try to capture without rhyme or stanza a word or idea. At the end of March 2025, I wrote this after a restless night. Read it and then write a brief sentence that describes what happens next…
There is an electric charge in the still air, so tense with energy that a single neuron fired would light up the space. Muscles are strained so taut and with such rigidity that a mere shiver would cause an explosion. The hair on arms is standing, stretched as if filaments in a light bulb. There is no sound, not a whisper, with even the tension crackling quietly. Breathing is non-existent, drawn to a point where lungs and eyes are on the verge of bursting yet caught in a never-ending pause. Ear drums are stretched to their limits, poised for more yet already tight as violin strings. Imaginations are frozen as if sealed in by the tightness of the skin of a drum. Hearts have stopped beating, on hold as if instructed. Time waits.