I had the joy of visiting Tyndale House yesterday and meander through its enchanting library. I could feel the words of the ages trickling down from its shelves as rain pattered outside. It was like walking into a poem! So, naturally, this happened: 

No clock ticks 

   for time has ceased

   and yet means everything;

It’s flowers faded

   now pressed, relics-

   of logos labyrinth. 

Beyond, the rain

   lost moments counts,

   but here the very air

       -dusty-

   holds its breath,

   and slow, exhales,

   dead ages still alive.