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The Breath of the Oak
The calendar trembles on the wall,
Its pages turning when I’m not ready at all;
A broken clock keeps calling my name,
But nothing it says ever sounds the same.
A fortune teller once whispered low,
“There’s more to life than what you know,”
But rolling thunder fills the open sky,
And won’t wait for me to ask it why.
There’s a withered oak breathing now,
Each moment asking me how...
How long I’ll stand here, too afraid to choose,
Too afraid of the time I might lose?
So I won’t wait for the world to begin,
I won’t stay where I’ve always been;
If time keeps moving, then so will I...
Before it passes me by.
