There is a time when time inhales
deeply to take in a breadth of secrets
Then after a pause, it exhales butterflies –
tiny bits of existence scheming the surface
of freshly mowed grass.
And bees – brave beings flaunting their buzz
with vigilant eyes not fooled by false flowers
There is a time such as this
when time stands still
when the sound of silence
is the indifferent stare from
a defiant molehill
A time when the only silence
Is the screaming emptiness.
