There is a stillness
in the absence of the television’s
jarring advertisements,
lethal dramas,
and fast paced sitcoms
just gnawing away at what little time we have here.
The last hour has been a week
of the relaxation I pursue daily.
Stuck in a world where the constant
is a sprint on a treadmill,
meaningless because I’m moving nowhere,
as others move about a steady change of scenery,
I am beginning to feel hopeless.
Will I get to climb my mountain?
Will I get to trip and skin my knees on the rugged earth?
Will I get to lay on a cliff,
enamored with a view I never thought was meant for me?
Will I feel pain?
Will I feel triumph?
Will I simply get to feel?

These years are getting old.
This faith is turning cold,
fickleness growing bold.