Jeffrey Hull

The hummingbird beats ever slow,
   His wings stand almost still;
In flower-dance adagio
   He grinds his airy mill.

Does time inch on? I cannot tell;
   These chains upon my eyes
Ensnare my sight, a dreamlike spell
   That every sense defies.

With years to bare remains distilled,
   The hours are boiled away;
The album of my heart is filled
   With scenes in fading gray.

My soul is nailed as to a post,
   So brutally transfixed,
Pierced through by what desired most
   The cruelest pain inflicts.

While seconds crash as slow as days
   A minute seems a year;
The eye with understanding plays:
   I watch you pass, my dear.


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull