Aquarius Dawning

There is beauty and gifts in the waiting, she says to herself—

As she wipes away a billionth tear.

She’s walked this dark room before. The room wet and mildewed from tears.

Tears that smell of—

The shallow breathing of a child realizing her dad missed her recital

The broken smile of a teen boy who had dared to light a tender confession of love for the brown haired girl only for it be snuffed

The last drop of whiskey in the fourth glass of the corporate workhorse and savant who was passed up yet again for a promotion

The sirens of a nation who elected yet another “savior” and only found famine and death

How is this any different this time?

If god exists, why didn’t dad catch the earlier flight?

If faith is substance of things hoped for, why is the teen boy playing a violent FPS in his room while everyone else is at the dance?

If there is justice, why can’t the corporate savant make enough to get out of survival mode.

If there is mercy, why are there babies with stomachs empty of food and limbs peppered with lead.

This room is a prison. A hollow serpent eating itself.

But in the corner of the room , she sees a slight crack in the wall.

Light is peering through.

Enough of a space to breathe fresh air from outside.

Enough of a space to slip her fingers through and pry open the wall with all of her might.

Enough of a revelation to realize the wall is made of particle board, flimsy and fragile.

Enough of a chance to destroy the prison.

She is her own god now.