Standing Still
It's not a stillness, really,
but the noise fading into something else.
I am the forgotten beat in the rush,
the space between clashing symbols,
drowned out but unbroken.
They circle around me,
a frenzy of flashes,
their words sparks,
their bodies electric with purpose -
all moving, all wanting,
but I am the breath between their sighs.
I don't belong to their script.
No damsels, no dragons, no knights,
no flashing lights to guide me home.
I'm not waiting for a saviour,
not longing for some twisted fantasy,
but standing still,
watching their world whirl by,
wondering why l'm meant to join.
It's an alien thing,
this rush they call life -
loud and hungry,
a chorus I never asked for.
But here, in my pause,
I find something they'll never see:
the quiet I refuse to swallow,
the stillness that speaks louder
than their endless demands.
I'm not here to be shaped,
not here to follow any painted road,
and I have no story to write
but the one I make now,
with every moment I stay outside their frame,
with every breath I take in defiance.
Let them chase their lights and fantasies.
I'll stand here, a sparkler in the dark,
no crown, no tiara,
but everything they forgot to name
in their relentless spinning.
Copyright © Lauren Tilley | Year Posted 2024
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