As Time Stood Still Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She'd drifted off
at last,
the day had gone,
a whirlwind filled with awe.
They had succumbed
to an irrational idea,
unknown to man
dismissive of all laws,
yet full of boiling clout
as it had fallen from the sky.

A dinosaur from space,
well dressed to kill
as it spread silken grace
between the silent trees
with their combative birds,
the feel of bedding hair,
from horse or ancient unicorn.

Few eyes observed,
a stagnant pond rejects
any mentality from crowds,
drawn simply by the jealous mind,
and as the shade rolled in
suspended from a mass of clouds,
they talked a little more,
but less was said that could be seen
as slayer of all luddites, no
the sailing was not smooth
until a glance locked on at speed,
eyes are like glaciers from beyond
where Edelweiss will grow
and none allowed to climb
and reach the brink of death
near the crevasse of pride
and silly sacrifice to some
who must be free,
and who will give
without a second look
or thought from deep inside.

There were so many now,
known to a few as busy bumblebees,
thoughts from the hemispheres,
half-baked and filled with hope.
They crossed and bore the skill
and timeless will of creepy bats,
avoiding strife and flying blind
into the other's scheming mind.

It was of course the sudden glance
that changed the prickly game.
There would be sips of wine and dance,
the hoarseness of a name.

And, as he watched her sleep,
a reddish glow rose from her cheek,
and, like a melody so soft
it would have done the Kolibri so proud,
she sang of sadness and of time,
a right Canary snore, he thought
and, absent of analysis and need,
he pulled the cover, just to keep her warm.
And laid his body next to hers,
beside her, breathing, of symmetry
the gentle sound of growing harmony
as one, a violin of ebony and maidenhair
that angels in the heavens understand.

And in her sleep she smiled,
and reached for his, a tiny hand demands
what must be right, she places his
into the cleavage of her twins
where now his fingers stretch
becoming still, to listen to her song
and rise with hers, as inspiration swells
to quell the hunger of her breath
for air, now laden with a scent to be
the essence of a promise for the touch
that would unite two hapless souls
if only gods would send their kindest plans
to let the eagles fly into the skies
and man to be as free as any bird.

They woke a dozen times and held
as if they needed to ensure
safekeeping of this innocent mirage,
their hands, their limbs entangled now
and there was morning dew to reassure
and underline a handful of their solemn words.

And time, so often asked to compromise,
yet never having yielded to a man
quickly took pleasure and an interest there,
it slowed each breath and calmed two beating hearts,
all touch was slowed in time,
hands lingered, lips were pressed
with strange inertia taking residence at once
and there was silence and the ambience of love.