Resin turns to amber,
Water becomes ice,
Inertia drums like thunder,
lightning never strikes.
The anchor isn’t moving
And bottled spirit’s brewing.
What drags, weighs down,
and tears do ground.
Patience sours to anger,
Silence has its price.
Just help me with this anchor,
And raise sails to sky.
But silence is the sound,
That more than often’s found.
Instead inertia’s brooding,
And we end up déja-viewing.
