My Legs Are Quiet

My legs are quiet;

I try to listen,

But they’re so still–

Afraid to even breathe.

I stretch them out,

Trying to reach them,

Pushing the bones to awaken

A voice that whimpers.

Instead of coursing like blood,

It trickles–

A leaky faucet

Dripping messages like

Morse code.

I press and hear them briefly,

An echo of pain

Imprinted like ink

Stamped in ages past.

They jump at the slightest noise;

They run when I am still.

My legs are quiet;

I try to listen…