Lost Expectations Poem by Attia Taylor

I fear.
After the turmoil, oils the surface.
Sliding on treacherous tightropes.
I fear.
I’m taken with the tumult.

The noise.
Fearing the noise of a silent life.
My ears become funnels,
Listening for “unwelcomed” sound.

We troubled.
Built smaller doors.
Roaming the streets.
Running, only to find our way back home.

What way?
In search for concrete dissuasion.
I’m lost.
Who made this map?

It’s here.
I’ve electrified a trail of hope.
The end.
Every single breath of expectation.