Should Time Stand Still Poem by Patti Masterman

I am not afraid of that
Indomitably abstract spirit of things
That do not make sense, yet refuse
To disappear, or vanish like a dreamers
Last dream at wakings precipice.
Yet I admit to fear about
What I might be turning into;
A dark, fossilizing stalagmite
In the shallow gravity of the worlds
Exuberant refusal to slow down for
Anything or anyone, in the track
Made by the wheel of life's turning,
And in the stripped out threads and fastenings,
And if I should turn into the sum of all
My thinking, these many years past,
Would I recognize myself now from back then,
Or remember who I once was,
And how could it matter in the end?