I. Revelation of Delay

Time does not pass; it gathers in the air,
the unsaid word made heavy by its stay.
We feel the weight of what is not yet there.

A gesture held is longer than the day.
The hand unlifted deepens into stone.
The pause becomes the place in which we pray.

The act undone outlasts the act become,
for endings scatter quickly into dust,
while halted motion waits so long to run.

We walk as though the floor remembers trust,
each step unfalling, caught before descent,
the held breath tightening slowly as it must.

Delay is not refusal but intent.
Time thickens where we choose not to proceed.
To stand unmoving is acknowledgment.

The future bends to what we do not cede.

II. The Delay Cathedral

A raised hand lingers at the edge of deed.
The doorway waits for one step to begin.
The threshold holds the outline of the need.

The stone is made from hesitations thin.
An arch of breath unspoken forms the nave.
Silence in mortar, plaster stays the sin.

Light enters here as something time once gave.
Not shine, but omen of where light might fall.
Not touch, but what touch promised to enslave.

A bell hangs weightless, perfect in the hall,
its ringing held inside itself, unmade.
If struck, the place would vanish with its call.

So nothing moves. No vow is ever laid.
To walk is not to travel, just to keep
a presence in the moment thats delayed.

Here even time is quiet in its sleep.

III. Echo of Delay

Not sound, not silence, something held between.
A warmth that lingers after touch has gone.
The air recalls what almost might have been.

There is no bell, yet still the ear waits on.
The waiting shapes the ear toward small things.
A stillness listening for something withdrawn.

Here nothing moves, yet every mote now sings,
Trepidation, like breath before a word.
The moment stays. The moment has no wings.

No promise given. No arrival heard.
A thought unchosen shapes itself to stay.
A presence neither vanished nor averred.

You stand within the echo of delay.
The echo stands within you as you stay.