As I stare down at this book,
I notice the pages of my life
Turning by themselves,
Hurrying at a decided pace,
Ignoring
My own desired pace of life:
Stillness.
I ask myself
If it is me or my body
Fighting off
What feels like
A virus - one
Eating away
At my enthusiasm-
Or, is it simply,
The predicament
Of a stunned heart
Rejecting, the possibility
To turn the page
Rejecting, the possibility
To look upon
The tabula raza of my future
With amity?
Rejecting, the possibility
To gladly look
Upon a bright page of white
Filled
With unforeseen
Promised unexpectations?
When change happened,
I wanted time to freeze.
I tried to make it so,
But failed.
I chose a painless cost,
To make time stop.
Paying with my heart
The price
To passively watch
Reality
Slipping,
And
Racing
Through, my fingers
One moment at a time.
(As the sand
Through an hourglass)
Being -frozen in time
Was my intent.
But life -taking its course
Woke me
From a long winter
Of slumber
And stupor
Nature
Made spring arise
As the season of ice
Had to someday pass
As beauty, slowly, awakes,
Now,
I chase after the turning pages
Of a dusty journal,
Trying to write down
The thoughts,
The memories
That make
Loving people
Making memories
And making connections,
A painful endeavour
It seems that
Too many times,
The pages turn
Before I have the time
To even find
The right pen
The right ink
With which
To write
A thought.
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