It is still when it comes,
soundlessness pressing upon ears
and bones, while in the distance
tires pummel asphalt, birdsong dims
as it thrums and it drums metal rooftops,
delusive shelter from the storm
when it hits, as will happen, none
are spared its conclusion;

Who can grant a better world?
What must happen to the lockdown
of mind, victim to life’s daily terms;
eke survival, laude achievement,
whatever seems imperative
at the time, careening off the rails
of collusion, winnings won,
then lost when she knocks
her tender fury, as she does,
no more forward, only slack
to reclaim what now is missing
sad arrangement, this hack
termed renewal, mixed up blessing
plowing under, growing back.


8 thoughts on “REAP

  1. So incredibly evocative, Bela; I almost died by the end of the fifth line. Odd that that which close to all of us fear most in life is that which we shall never experience, it not being experienceable, is it not? Brilliant work! H ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Mahalo, as ever, for your kind praise. I trust I’m not going to kill any of my readers(!) But I get your drift – when these words appear in consciousness, they often send chills throughout my entire being. I’ve always loved the word ‘thrum.’ It is one of those especially evocative words, in my opinion, and I’m always thrilled to discover new uses for it 😉 Love to you on this day!

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Good article, BN, thanks. “Can we shut up long enough to listen to what the silence might reveal?” This is why, for most of my life, I’ve lived at the end of civilization somewhere. At least while it lasts, which is in any case temporary. Yet while and where silence can be had, I will ever seek it. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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