The Time I Stopped

When is it that I began to stop keeping time

When is it that time kept away from my rhyme

When did I get into the abyss I always stayed away from

When did I not sense the touch of impurities in venom

When did I run faster than the clock of life’s giving

When did I get outrun by the giving of my own being

When did I light up my wood on which I so dearly rested

When did the fire’s warmth turn my wood into ashes wasted

When did Fall just went falling down to dehydrated stillness

When did winter become so frozen with time’s blindness

When did snowflakes stop showering down brightness

When did the promise of spring lose its lasting finesse

When did it all become gray amidst green meadows

When did I not notice the motive of hovering shadows

When did the hands of my time stop ticking in accord

When did the synchronization fail to strike the chord

When was the wind so unruly that it broke the chime

When my world crumbled, even sands could rhyme

When did I really begin to stop keeping my own time

When did I fall behind, when precisely did I Stop Time