When the lights go out

In comfort of rooms lit with white
the people move together and apart
to talk pleasure and sense in the evening’s company.
But when the lights go out
breath fractures, words die and anxiety
spreads a birthmark across faces;
holes widen in the walls of security
and untold fears crowd the door.
Please give us a reason, the plea unspoken –
will someone do something, the hope held silent –
let things be as they were, the wish clenched tight.
 
Then the generator of normalcy kicks in
with instructions and assurances to match
words are found again, but come strained
through the back of the mind where squats the fear that
one day
the lights may not come on again.