Freewave

 
Most things don’t arrive loud.
The steps that they take vibrate
Low. Constant.
The kind of sound you only recognize
when you’ve been listening long enough.
Dreams as they relate to motion
circling back, checking memory,
asking if we remember
why we started.
We come from places
that teach observation before opinion.
Where history lives in posture,
in tone,
in the pause before someone speaks.
The Lessons not learned
but absorbed in our DNA early
survival as a skill,
dignity as discipline.
That change constructed.
Brick by brick. Mind by mind.
Until it can actually hold us
that injustice echoes.
I’ve heard it
in streets that remember names,
in classrooms without walls,
in moments that seem small
but bend direction.
Faith inadherently handed to us as comfort.
Adapted to as responsibility.
The belief that thought sharpens action.
That patience can still be urgent.
That love, when disciplined,
becomes strategy.
So move with intention
He promised direction.
And I walk with that
listening for the frequency,
adjusting my steps,
keeping the motion honest.

***

(Featured image from Pexels)