Midnight scrawlings, half-asleep one dreary evening:

Her face is gleaming
    A silver watch that’s stopped and never right
    But always fair
A brilliant demonstration of the power of the mind
Her eyes are ever sightless
    But she sees, oh my, she knows
    Of the indignities
    And the injustices
She hears the whispers of the wanderers
    Hateful and conspiring with love
    To save her from this moment
    Eternal moment
    With you, suspended

Give her time
    Give her time to speak for herself
Her words come slowly
    In the bubbles, in the creaking of the valves and in the sighs
    When everything is silent
    When a mere degree keeps blushing life from graying darkness
Give her time
    And you will know

It’s growing dark here on the outside
Adjust, observe, prevent, and keep the time
    (For when she asks)
The day is ever nearing and it’s blinding, miraculous
The sun is in her hair
    And all she asks is patience
But here I sit, recording every whisper
Every hissing of the pipes a syllable, another broken quill
    It drives us closer and closer
    Not a moment goes to waste
    Her eyes are bearing down upon me
    And I shrink

Give her time
    And we’ll decode the message
Give her time and every word will be explained
    When we sit in the darkness, breathing slowly
    When the only thing that keeps your fingers clenched
    Is one more whisper
    Give her time and you will know

Midnight scrawlings, half-asleep one dreary evening:

World of Gears PabloIchiban Chesterfield