I am writing about THIS MOMENT now. When we read this writing of THIS MOMENT then THIS MOMENT will have passed.
But.. a silent cage, built of drawings of sound, will store THIS MOMENT for Ever (as a part of itself).
This silent cage is a vehicle. A portal. A dioramic world..
A transduction valve. A telesmic image. A checkpoint..
'Tis liken to a well. A crystal ball. A dream..
We forget where we are and fall asleep (or rather, forget to remember who we are) – but.. not completely.
Adjective mOrPhS into Injunction - as we.. shapeshift.
Thus art thine became, 'The Poem'.
A living spell (a naunce of.. The Word).