A Poem a Day (693): Drop

Drop
 
It’s a fall of water, musical notes,
first floating, then thick, heavy,
repetitive, too out of tune.
A repeat that will not fade out.
The tap locked. Windows closed.
No escape from interlocking sound.
 
It comes in waves some days.
In others it’s an uncuttable record.
No pause. No erasure. No lightening
of the load. It just is. Unstoppable.
 
You could blink & fall out of space,
the end never in sight, but shrouded,
somewhere deep into dark.
A well no one throws a coin in.
 
You don’t speak for an endless time
if you cannot find your voice.
In the tumult. In the wilderness.
Out there in the nothing it now is.
 
We scurry forth like ants, directionless,
seek solace, a guide, a measure of the thing.
And the world ticks on, full-forward,
while we sit staring at the clock now locked.
 
They say a prism can become a prison
if you choose to stare into it too long.
A walkway can become too narrow,
the memory of a raindrop the weightiest load.
Just a postcard with a benign address,
stamped with a face you never knew.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 15, 2024