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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