Might Awaken

Might Awaken

(“In fact, we still feel as if we’re under a death sentence. But we suffered so that we would stop trusting ourselves and learn to trust God, who brings the dead back to life.” 2 Corinthians 1:9)

The air was heavy, no sound would carry,
nor rustle of grass, no buzz of wings;
only broken-throated diesel groans
from tugs up the river. For all we knew,
nothing stirred of the few who showed up
to listen.

Once daylight was warm as a freshly pressed shirt,
muscles keen, eyesight huge, green bright and receptive
to the morning songs. Once seats were filled,
ears were tilted, laughter ran like a room full of toddlers
and everyone had heard our names.

Today was a dark corner, a numb shadow,
a memory that picks names from a hat and
hopes for the luck of the draw. Do I know you?--
for the third time in a row.

Words did not bounce; they barely made it to the wall
and fell spent upon the floor like a preschool attempt at
paper airplane flight. Ideas did not expand, they merely
repeated,
merely repeated,
paused and repeated again; for emphasis.

Some might say the spirit fled, others that the
atmosphere was dead;
some might hear what I heard, and change the dial
to find something worth their while. All along
I knew the day would die. I am sorry my earlier
joys and fancies
have not followed me this far, this lately.

Pretence is the greatest sorrow; mix this lonesome
solitude with a greater solace that better songs,
lyric and guitarists, might awaken the soul tomorrow.