The power died — no hum no light

The power died — no hum, no light,

just the cold bite of black.

Candles guttered on the windowsill,

tiny flames against cracked plaster walls.

Next door, no glow of late-night TV,

the street silent but for a distant siren’s call.

I sat, no scroll, no glare,

just shadows tossing in the flicker.

Outside, the world was dark,

inside, time stretched thin,

like the pause before breath,

the hold before a word breaks.

That night, I learned how loud the quiet can be

when everything stops.