Chromatic Hum
They will bring me to this party.
It’s August in the afternoon
but I did not want to come.
Because everywhere I go
I hope you are there —
waiting in the living room.
And when I arrive
you jump out and yell Surprise!
And I cry.
The moment passes by,
another goes by,
and another goes by,
and others die on the vine.
I spend all my time
hoping for a sign.
Is it coincidence,
or something more divine?
We were right the whole time —
wrong about the timing,
never about the bond.
The break was the wild thing,
and the places we remained
offered nothing in return
to offset the pain.
When I confessed my heart speak,
I know it left you feeling obsolete —
like you could not tell the truth,
could not let me go,
too afraid to let anything show.
A black light responsive to my touch,
glowing in the off light,
in the scattered dreams.
I am the prism —
the one who bends the colours back into white,
all meaning into one movement,
crescendo under crescent moon,
neon along the edges.
I stand under the sky,
constellations circling my horizon.
I see you at the periphery
of now or never.
The archer stands ready,
bends his bow into light,
and lets the ray revolve.
I better hold onto my resolve.
It is a long slingshot around the sun
back to the one who makes me smile —
that radiant man on a wire,
standing with his message,
his signpost in the middle of a fire,
burning with all our desire:
purple and green,
and all the frequencies in between.
Let your ear bend around the sound —
the drum of the universe
inside my chest.
I am just a party guest.
You are the celebration.
Have your cake,
eat it as well.
Time has me under
your everlasting spell.
I do not fear the swell of the heart,
the avalanche of tears,
the continuous prayers
for you to be near.
I hear only the sound —
that cosmic hum
under everything else.
Let the light bend gently toward you,
each frequency a wave
carrying a part of my heart’s beat.
May every colour that reaches you
arrive with the warmth
I’ve kept for you in the dark.
And if the signal stutters in the dark,
I’ll follow every flicker back to you.
The colours crowd the hallway,
waiting for their cue —
a slow-rising overture
in violet, gold, and blue.
The room holds its breath.
The moment leans toward truth.
Every frequency you’ve ever given me
begins returning to the root.
A skip in the signal —
a half-second static bloom,
blue noise trembling
at the edge of your name.
The waveform stutters,
splits,
reforms —
a flicker of truth
trying to break through.
The colours split —
violet into gold,
gold into green,
green into the quiet blue
that only appears
when the heart is under pressure.
Everything tilts.
The room blurs at the edges.
Light folds in on itself
like a secret finally speaking.
A pulse.
A flare.
A soft shatter of spectrum
falling back into your name.
And when that moment growing on the vine
blooms in every shade and hue,
filling the entire living room,
you yell out Surprise
and the petals flutter with the sound —
I will hold you
like the moon holds the shine
until morning returns to unfurl
in every frequency of sight.
They will bring me to this party —
but now the room is made of light.
August hums along the walls,
every colour leaning toward your name.
I step across the threshold
and the universe inhales.
The moment that once slipped by
returns in full spectrum,
waiting in the living room
like it always wanted to.
And in the hush that follows,
the light keeps moving toward you —
slow, certain,
like it knows your name
better than time ever did.
A single line of light keeps traveling toward you,
long after the sound is gone.
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