A/N: All punctuation (or lack thereof) is intentional.

The silence stretches tight

as it moves faster, gathering

momentum It will not

refuses to

abhors the command

Stop.

.

Time may be time

no matter your view but

it isn’t, really.

Time doesn’t change

but the moments do.

Time is impersonal

but the moment is yours.

Take it, please,

in the galloping silence

that refuses to

Stop.

.

Tension thickens the air

to cold, heavy water,

and the whole world . . . is drowning.

Movement slows,

and thought freezes solid.

The moment, your moment,

is encased in ice

as it changes

and time does not

and the silence

flies by

as it will not

Stop.

.

The horizon is limned

with gold

and the clouds bloom and shrink

like wispy

soft

fragile

flowers

in this frozen early

morning moment —

the one that belongs to you

less and less

as it changes and slips

through the grasping cold fingers

of tension

with possibilities

as time bears it away

on a static

stream of consciousness

almost as swift as

the silence.

.

Stop.

Please.

The morning the

tension the

moment the

time the

silence

Stop it.

.

And begin.