When I wrote “Still Time,” I was reflecting on the uneasy pause between movement and contemplation—those moments when we feel compelled to move forward yet still linger in the past. The poem emerged from a place of restlessness and quiet observation, where dreams and memories seemed to intertwine.

I aimed to capture the rhythm of thought—the way it drifts, circles back, and occasionally settles into a sense of peace. Each image, from raindrops on faces to words filling a page, served as a way to mark the passage of time and to explore what it means to move through it with awareness.

Still Time

Had there been a better time
to move forward,
his instincts guiding him
toward a quieter piece of mind?

He saw dreams between sheets
of satin, moving quickly,
darting through past fleets of time,
ending in waking sounds.

Drops of rain wetted faces,
moving like ant lines.
Did he want to join the march in time?
Boots banging cadence.

Words overflowed,
easing from his mind,
marking pages grey in sunlight,
filling his space.