Still Life
Zephyrs saunter past my nose
at speeds where one cannot appreciate
the foreign fragrances they often hold
before their currents dissipate.
Ripples congregate and flit
before my eyes with unbecoming haste;
they undulate their circular hellos,
then disappear without a trace.
Tis a pity that I must
resort to such an interposing crest,
a pocket watch suspended at my side
that stills the life in nature's breast.
"Quell your murmuring my dear;
I merely wish to scrutinize your cast,
and savor every ornament you bear,
for this quiescence cannot last!"
Temporal silence fills the air.
The scent of flowers in the frozen breeze
becomes more potent with each focused whiff,
and I may sample as I please.
Breathless butterflies recline
on blossom-tops as they have always done,
their wings like living portraits paralyzed,
presenting to the watchful sun.
Stagnant, but still animate,
the lake responds to my enlivened hand;
its liquid halos form and grace my touch,
then pause before their crowns disband.
Speechless echoes, rings of glass,
adorned the surface of the blue terrain,
their lucid leis refracting rays of light;
though fixed, their charm is not in vain.
Shame I couldn't catch the rain,
but I cannot command the clouds to pour,
so beautiful the diamond drops would be,
delayed above the verdant floor.
Time returns to rend my spell;
the lush environment regains its will,
so here I loaf alone on tender grass,
acknowledging what was once still.
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