‘tis just a gentle snapping sound
like a small branch underfoot
that halts the stride of one endowed
with a sense of urgency.
And in the pause pure silence falls
to weight the muscles with dismay
till unable to regain the will
nothing happens, zero, naught.
The pose is most undignified,
no directions left to read,
but who can read from left to right
when stuck in nothing happening?
That moment stretches into years
until brain functions re-engage
and rev towards awakening
a too long dormant will.
Oh, will, the will of mighty men
breaks the silence, moves the feet,
but of that snapping, snapping, sound
in lurks unseen in spaces weak.
‘tis just a weak space, nothing more,
and sounds don’t really hurt at all
so crush those branches happily
on the way towards a happening!