The Battery’s Dead

I remain transparent, open to your suggestions.

Unable to resist, and longing for an abrupt shift. A shift in being.

If you could only heed the call, but I refrain. For I want you to make the first move,

to see you slide your foot across the ground and view its movement, to see the impression that is made.

I wish for your connection, to feel the static between us and to witness the sparks as they fly.

But nothing is created. The battery’s dead.



1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “The Battery’s Dead

  1. Chad

    The wise man can pick up a grain of sand and envision a whole universe. But the stupid man will just lay down on some seaweed and roll around until he’s completely draped in it. Then he’ll stand up and go, “Hey, I’m Vine Man.”

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