In silent stillness, time itself stands fast,
No ticking whispers break the velvet night;
The world, enshrined in moments caught and cast,
Each soul a statue, poised in breathless light.
A child’s laughter, frozen on her lips,
A lover’s gaze, half-robbed of gentle sighs,
The baker, dusting flour, his hands in grips,
While dreams of rising loaves fade from the skies.
The artist’s brush, a moment’s dance of hue,
Hangs poised mid-air, suspended in creation;
The echoes of a life so rich and true
Are caught in time's relentless, harsh vexation.
Yet here, amidst the quiet, ponder still,
What dreams might bloom if time should bend its will?