it’s a yellow submarine morning
colder than the eyes of some forbidden danger
a spark of light by the curtains glow
red balloons across the sky
they have come to take me on
no more black birds singing in the darkest night
we have come to another day in the life
thinking back, i remember just now
our fires burning such a deepest cavern in the snow
our conversations like journeys flown
i hear now what percolates
in yonder distant rooms
filled with wives and children
with cereal and spoons
and to a desk with pen and ink
to strike the sounds of thought
to ponder and to think
i become the soul of time
crafting a digital word-spun rhyme
and as i look upon these lines
across the clutter, grown like vines
i think of drawers and shelves and pockets
placing such secrets softly
on a page of light and time
and perhaps one year from now
when the cold and white does shine
i will remember why i wrote these
simple, scattered lines
they will bring me back
to a moment, a place, a time
and I will think of winter
so beautiful, so cruel
so measured, so divine
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/6/18
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