Days have passed, days to come,

A river with no rapids, with no ravage at all, 

Quiet trinkles, every creature lay undisturbed.

Minds running faster than the stream, cycling and cycling.

My own measly eternity, waiting for a ripple.

The reflection staring back; morphing, taunting,

I lose myself in the blue, was I ever found?

Stagnation, ambition’s fatal curse, dares to glaze

A drop through the air, the warmth is gone.

Sun, he sets in his slumber—not yet.

Please, just another minute, another—

Unspoken pleas can never fall on hearing ears.

The blue stills more, creeping into frost.

It crawls and crawls, my countenance only left to view,

Made of glass, of ice, our eyes see no relent—

Nothing can be done—

A soft blink, and the water stirs to life.