Frequencies Lost

I turn the dial blind in dark,

plastic cracked beneath trembling fingers.

Numbers ghost-white, rubbed to shadow,

a language swallowed by years.

Static fizz hisses low,

a whisper of voices I chase—

somewhere just out of reach,

a song slipped through frayed wires.

The room hums heavy with silence,

a crackling fog where sound should live.

Spinning the dial like a wheel of fortune,

desperate for a signal, a sign.

All I catch is breath and hiss,

a faded frequency lost to time,

and the ghost of a voice

that never quite found me.