The flatness that surrounds is dull,

deadening the senses, slowly leeching

life from hapless souls stuck in the

wicked sameness of daily life.

 

I wake to this morning by morning

wondering if today will provide the

moment of color – deep, renewing,

capable of restoring my voice which

 

has become sullenly silent.  Why,

I wonder, has the flatness of life

stolen my voice?  How do words

hide in such plain sight?  Is there

 

a secret to call to them, to bring them

back home, to unleash their power

to reshape the flatness, to renew

what has grown weary, to bring life?

 

 

16 October 2015