What I Feel Coming in the Air Tonight
Poetry & Prose by Britt Wolfe
Something is shifting.
You can hear it in the silence—
not absence,
but pressure,
like a wire stretched too tight to hold.
This is not reform.
This is fracture.
The scaffolds of greed are groaning,
the palaces of profit already cracking
beneath the weight of their own rot.
Every empire believes itself eternal—
right up until the moment it isn’t.
Do you feel it too?
That pulse under the skin,
that hush before everything breaks?
The ending is close—
but not our ending.
Theirs.
Theirs is the silence,
theirs the collapse,
theirs the reckoning.
And us—
we are the noise that rises,
the surge that floods the ruins,
the light breaking through the black.
We are many,
we are endless,
and the future has already bent toward us.
They will call it chaos.
They will call it ruin.
But we will name it rightly—
we will call it freedom.
We will call it justice.
We will call it hope.
We will call it ours.
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