The pendulum swings and seconds fall from minutes…
minutes that fall from hours…
hours that peel back into days, and so on.
The walls stand opaque, painted with the evening’s shadow. I sit alone with my thoughts as they strain through my mind.
I tell myself I’m not dead.
I tell myself Gods not dead.
I grasp my hands and fall to my knees.
Will my prayers be answered?
Are they all just empty sonnets?
Is there more than just a dome like sky to cry out to?
Do the clouds catch my pleas?
Do the stars burnish an answer?