By David Bent-Hazelwood
 
It will be harder, second time.
Less light, more dark.
Then it was new, but now just continuing, routine.
First time, there was a limit.
This time, no end in sight.
Change the rhythm, keep the pulse.
 
It could be a place of limbo.
Waiting for vaccines, for miracles, for cures.
Waiting for illness, for struggles, for death.
Waiting for clarity, for meaning, for resolution.
Change the rhythm, keep the pulse.
 
Always at home.
A bag put down arriving back one evening,
Next to the door as normal,
But then unused for months, just sagging down.
Change the rhythm, keep the pulse.
 
During our busy dance, the music faltered.
Our steps hesitated, and our bodies halted.
Abruptly
We snapped out, and realised:
We are not dancing anymore.
Change the rhythm, keep the pulse.
 
Between the beats, there can be silence.
Is the dance, the music over,
Now and forever?
Or is the next beat just coming,
Dropping
Down
After
We’re
Ready?
Change the rhythm, keep the pulse.
 
Our hearts keep beating, though.
Our lungs breathing.
Our thoughts going.
Our feelings flowing.
All of us ready to
Change the rhythm, keep the pulse.