Caught In Time

We are caught in time: frozen solid like icicles in memories, To our glance was the morning’s chill singing it’s steadfast melodies. I, looking toward the sky, thought about the perpetual changing of seasons. It’s getting cold, I hear, And yet, you seem querulous with doubt. You fear the entire world and winter. Though all I’ve heard in return is soft whispers... there is power to that rasp, to the timbre tone you speak, what was it you said, “Time is weak?” If we took this morning glory, the clear, crisp sky, with its purity and grace, would split open as soft lips, we’d could fly away, and drift from this place.