~~~~~

Words lay stacked and squared with care,
Their measured faces aligned with air.
They stand because no force arrives,
To ask what any line survives.

The scale's set, yet never used,
Its balance kept, with purpose bruised.
It waits to weigh, test, and strain.
It calls delay a sort of gain.

Motion is logged, yet never felt;
Change then named, but never dealt.
Every step mimics the one before,
Until the path forgets its core.

Depth's then claimed where silence sits,
As thin as dust that never shifts.
Meaning soon forms where nothing stirs,
And settles safe from pressure's spurs.

No crack appears; No warning sounds.
The surface keeps its polished bounds.
Stillness holds to receive applause,
And drift gets dressed as natural law.

Weight then arrives without a name,
It finds no brace beneath the frame.
What stood by order fails by fact,
with abscence marking the final act.

Thus measure stays, untouched, complete:
A rule untested, neat and neat.
While time records with quiet grace,
That which never bore its own weight's trace.

~~~~~



Penned by my hand on the 18th of Phaestian, in the year 994 AF.