Earthquake Of Life Poem by Bernard F. Asuncion

The tectonic tremor, not of crust, but of spirit,
a fault line fracturing the smooth facade of days.

Sudden, the seismic shift, a stutter in the rhythm,
cobalt cracks bloom across the porcelain certainty.
Dust motes, once dancing in sunbeams, now choke the throat,
a gritty veil over the shattered mosaic of 'always.'

The ground, once firm, a liquid sway,
a serpentine slither beneath unsteady feet.
Walls, once bulwarks of belonging, crumble,
leaving skeletal shadows against a bruised, ochre sky.

A silent scream, a swallowed sob,
the aftershocks of disbelief, a shivering echo.
Rubble of routines, remnants of resolve,
scattered like fallen dominoes, a disordered design.

No roaring rupture, no thunderous tear,
just the insidious creep of displacement,
the slow, agonizing separation of self from solid ground.
A silent, subterranean surge, reshaping the landscape of the soul.

The sun, a jaundiced eye, watches the wreckage,
while the wind, a whispering witness, sifts through the debris.
Then, a tentative tendril, a fragile sprout,
pushing through the pulverized pride, a resilient root.

A slow, deliberate rebuilding, stone by salvaged stone,
a new foundation, forged in the fires of fallen faith.
The earthquake of life, a brutal architect,
leaving behind a landscape scarred, yes, but undeniably stronger.