Last Week's New Black

The world seemed quiet, as if holding its breath,
seven days had passed already and there had
still been no violence of any kind to touch
the hearts of humanity with sorrow's wings.

Each new dawn held a sense of anticipation,
a negative aspect if you wish to view it that way,
it was like waiting for a balloon to pop,
people whispered notes of concern to neighbours,
no one knew how to behave now, it was surreal
how everyone glanced around, waiting for something,
anything to break the spell that had captured society.

Radio stations reported happy events on the hour,
television shows rearranged their programming
to fit into the atmosphere of pleasantry,
comedy shows no longer used slap-stick humour,
for that was considered to be last week's new black
and I just stared at the cracks that appeared
to be widening though no one else could see it.

There was no passion anymore, no spontaneity,
no risk at all to keep us in the groove,
I wondered if this really was the right way forward
as another false laugh bounced in through the window.

Perhaps this was our demise, and some other intelligence
would rise from the complacency we were showing,
or maybe some other race, not of this world,
had slipped past our defences and subdued us all,
I really do not know, but one thing I do know,
life is dull, there is nothing to push us forward anymore,
we're deflated shadows now of what we once were,
and though violent actions were frowned upon,
they were an integral part of our nature to survive
in a place where reality is kill or be killed
inside a universe where random choices flick normality.