Silent Stone

Contemplation

Words, like whispers, gather
in the hollow of my hand
a vocal verbiage army
under my command.
Thoughts as soft as snowflakes
fall upon my soul
chilling to the depth of me
a quiet song of snow.
But oft, when I'm distracted
and sometimes when I'm not,
I lose a subtle part of me
to dreams that Time forgot.
For dreamers belong to dreamers
as angels to the snow
gathered into monuments
beyond my vague control.
Yet, I'm not one to languish
in things best left alone
so gather soft, still waters
and cast me silent stone.