The Electric Slumber of the Wires

Between plaster and stone, where the eye cannot reach,
sleeps a silent net, a furtive vein.
It is not inert silence, it is no absence of life,
but a barely audible hum, a sleeping force.
It is the faint memory of passing light,
an energy waiting that none can deduce anymore.

Beneath the warm skin of every wall that wraps us,
an invisible pulsing, a secret gathers itself.
Like sap awaiting the call of the pin,
unwinds a lattice, a subtle and divine weave.
Every loop, every knot, keeps a promise guarded,
of extinguished flashes and stories the mind does not define.

It is the quiet consciousness of a parallel world,
the deep beat beneath our sky.
A voiceless echo, a future held back,
The Electric Slumber of the Wires, never truly lost,
that in patient darkness knows how to await the dawn,
ready to spark, if a command awakens it.