One Drop

Like an eerie peacefulness
riding on the skirt of turbulence
within the eye of a storm,
there is a lull
that goes unnoticed.
I hear it as I stand amidst the crowd.
It’s deafening silence plays like a symphony.
Yet not many can sense it.
I watch shadows of encapsulated figures.
People shelled in human bodies
yet lacking a quality,
a depth,
such as that which differentiates
flat from three dimensional.
Emotionless.
Motionless.
A slight stirring in crowd
only becomes visible
when the trading post opens.
A stock market
where hearts and compassion
are exchanged
for what is considered
a fair price in today’s economy.
Begins the swapping of integrity
for a valued commodity,
perhaps a bigger piece of the pie
or a token to advance a few steps up
on the ladder of success.
There’s bartering.
A soul for a man made dollar.
Once transactions have completed,
again the silence.
I warn them.
“The eye of the storm is above us!”
But the faces only stare back
through glazed eyes.

The wind will soon be picking up.
Will it be forceful enough
to push these creatures
off the line of status quo?
Or will they not even feel a breeze?
Is it only in the black of night
that they will first begin
searching for light?
Perhaps they are waiting
for multitudes to start bleeding
before acknowledging
that there is blood.
They stand somewhere
between silence and noise,
contributing to neither.
In a state of nothingness.
Unaware that bleeding begins
with one drop.