Antenna

Perhaps it is the weather,
some strange confluence of cloud and sky,
a solar flare or psychic disturbance.

Or perhaps it is the dark silence of night,
an empty place that sucks the words
into oblivion, cold and empty.

Or, and this is your worst fear,
there is no one on the other side.
Broadcasting has ended. You are left

on your own, to wonder
and create, not in magic
but in fear.

About this poem

We all have those days. When we wonder if anyone is out there.

Tom