April 15th strikes
not like a day
but like an hour:
15th o’clock,
a time that does not exist
and yet insists on happening.
It arrives as a block,
a solid interruption
in the flow of April,
a square of time
that refuses to melt
into the rest of the month.
Then comes the lock,
a click in the air,
a subtle tightening,
as if the universe
has decided to secure something
you didn’t know
was at risk of escaping.
And in the middle of this
temporal geometry
stands an eunuch of the hour
not literal,
but symbolic,
a figure stripped of power
yet somehow still defiant,
a guardian of thresholds
who announces things
no one asked to hear.
He speaks without sound,
gesturing toward the sky
where the moon
refuses its duties.
A moon that never rises
and never sets,
a lunar refusal,
a celestial strike.
It hangs there,
motionless,
expressionless,
a pale coin
that declines to be spent.
This moon is not absent.
It is withholding.
It is the moon of suspension,
of paused emotions,
of desires held in quarantine.
April 15th is a day
that locks the world
into a strange stillness,
a block of time
that cannot be climbed over
or walked around.
And yet,
beneath the stillness,
beneath the locked hour,
beneath the moon’s refusal,
there is a quiet defiance.
A pulse.
A breath.
A whisper of motion
in a world pretending
to be frozen.
The eunuch of the hour
raises a hand,
as if to say:
Even in stasis,
something is shifting.
And the moon,
unmoving,
unrising,
unset,
glows with the faint,
unmistakable promise
that stillness
is only another form
of becoming.
I love how youre taking the days and giving them stories and personality. Some days I can barely string a few coherent words together for the challenge. And youre still hitting every day with fantastic verse! 🙌
Brilliantly penned, PAR. Another excellent write you’re just in the groove my friend. Amazing read brother I look forward to the 16th. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian