To feel stagnant The overnight cup of water The house with closed shutters A sense of weariness Wetting life’s appetite like stale bread And dulling the eye of its glitter Like electricity lost The whir of the fan stills The rotating washing machine mutes And the light is now blackened The room gray Stilled rumbling, absent golden hue Eyelids lead-heavy But light as a feather Compared to the heart without hope The pounds of lament Knock everything low Even the thought that one might rise Does anyone else have this thumping between their ears? Like a drum of death pursuing How will I hear when Hope comes to visit Laid…