Something has changed its posture.
The air stands straighter now.
Conversations lower themselves
mid-sentence.
Streetlights blink
like they're counting.
Houses learn new habits;
curtains drawn earlier,
names spoken softer.
Stories arrive already edited.
Corners sanded down.
Everyone's handed a fragment
and told it's the whole.
Footsteps pause at doorways.
Schools rehearse silence.
Love learns how to hide
without forgetting how to beat.
History doesn't knock;
it lets itself in,
sits comfortably,
asks why no one stopped it
last time.
Fear becomes routine.
Anger turns useful.
And the world tightens its jaw,
bracing for the moment
someone finally says
this isn't normal.
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Author:
nev (
Online) - Published: January 23rd, 2026 09:00
- Comment from author about the poem: You tell me.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: nev, Tristan Robert Lange
Online)
Comments2
Changes are noticed time seems to stop and it is only then that we realize that things are not normal. Well written
Thank you.
Most welcome
nev, this is painfully observant. The domestic details, the historical echo, and that final naming of “this isn’t normal” all converge with quiet force. It doesn’t shout, it witnesses…and that makes it powerful. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you so much
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