We countdown to nowhere,
Still-life air to breathe….
Time Traveling in a blank stare

 Seconds, minutes, hours, days,
Creeping and Strutting…
Seasons feign change,
But there is no movement

 What is this cool cruelty?
A smoldering Phoenix?
A rehearsal in annoyance?
Or a bow for applause?

 Draw the blinds of persistence
From this static spiral.
Call not our names,
Until we can truly arise.

tpt-2/2/07