Room 14

Ragged breath. Gasps fill the quiet room. 

The breathing stops. No sound. Silence. 

Inhale. 

Relief. 

His sentinels sit. We watch. We listen.

A melody sings out easy. A husband, to his love.

“The landslide will bring it down.”

The dread is heavy, the uncertainty thick.

There is no hope. But there is love.

Visible. 

Abundant. 

Resignation hovers. The inevitable approaches. 

Peace will come, leaving sadness in its wake. 

When tethered no more, this will be the down.

Remember.

Now soar.

©️Michael Rohrer

July 29, 2020

Four Hours on a Train: A Tweet Opera

NYC, July 24, 2017, 8:30 am Departure.

9:02 am: The City lies under a blanket of fog. The world turns. The train moves forward. I am stuck. Moving yet not.

9:18 am: I am neither mover nor shaker. I move in no circles. Excepting for the one encompassed by my rut. Stuck.

9:54 am: Gray skies. Raindrops streak the train window. Towns pass in a blur. Steeples. Flags. Lakes. Gloomy all.

10:53 am: The train stops unexpectedly. A breeze sways the leafy branches. There's a chill. I await the arrival of Dementors. Trepidation.

11:09 am: The train sits powerless, silent but for the sound of breathing. The air is still. Waves ripple beyond the glass. Waiting.

11:49 am: The boats bob up and down on the turbulent sea. Anchored in place. Sails folded. Rainy days in seaside towns. Sad.

12:05 pm: The broken ruin of what used to be still stands proudly on the hill. Oh, to stand that proudly, even now, as broken is how I feel.

12:32 pm: "Maybe u can't connect because u're not as funny, stylish, or clever as u think u are," he said to himself. "And u're kinda cold.”

12:59 pm: As the condensation continued to fog the windows I began to wonder, "Is this a reflection of my mind?"

Boston, July 24, 2017, 1:07 pm Arrival