The Foundation

I barely ever find time
to step into every room of this house.
By the time evening arrives,
weary from work,
I have just enough energy
for a shower,
then dinner,
and the usual—television.

Each day follows the same script.

I’ve gathered everything I need,
placed it in every corner.
But where’s the time
to savor it all
in the frenzy of this life?

Between bites of food
or glances at the TV,
the children weave their tales:
school adventures,
friends, demands—
each voiced like a song.

But I hear only half.
My responses?
Frustration,
silence.
Their bright dreams fade,
met by my tired neglect.

In this machine-age world,
everything feels mechanized.
Relationships, delicate threads,
strained at fragile bends.
Neither do they understand me,
nor can I explain myself.
Where is the time
to mend the cracks in these ties?

Yet an unseen hand
manages it all—
sweeping through rooms,
organizing every corner,
preserving the bonds of my childhood.

Its gentle, invisible touch
brims with strength,
reviving my spirit,
transforming exhaustion into vigor.
Yet we all turn a blind eye,
ignoring what is plainly there.

------------------