Tenuous Reality

Before the screens ignite,
the world hangs like a paused heartbeat,
quiet, unbranded.
Darkness steadies the room,
a cool hand on a fevered brow,
reminding us we are not yet owned…

by the day’s hypnotic glow.  Not yet.

Close the eyes, childhood flares back ike a candle relighting itself.
Tree houses tilt into view, half‑real, half‑remembered,
their wooden ribs holding secrets too small for algorithms to swallow.
Even now, those moments rustle like creatures under a lifted stone.

But the present hums louder, a hive of headlines,
a leash of glowing notifications pulling minds through mazes
that melt like clocks left in the sun.
People drift, pressed thin as receipts in the wallet of a Peeping Tom world,
paying attention until it owns them.

Yet…

Beneath it all,
a pulse persists.
A quiet, defiant meter.
A rhythm learning its name again.
Not free,
not finished,
but rising,
like a lantern stitching its flame back into brightness.

Give it just one more moment,
and it will stand steady,
unwavering,
returning to its true reality,

whole on its own terms.