Grasping

As the world appears to stop

As the events of the day and the events of the future begin melding together,

to form one tangle of thought,

Indistinguishable lines form, lines too thin to really decipher, lines that wish to be grasped at once

However impossible.

The world moves on and time never ceased.

 

If only time would cease! So as to give more time.

If only the sun would delay its daily rising just a few hours

If only the sun would delay its daily setting just a few hours

If only there was a way to distinguish the threads of thought, to order them, to organize

If only there was time

 

When the definition of sleep no longer becomes relevant

and the body continues to mindlessly follow a routine that has become a habit

Leaning on you, pulling you, just a little longer, just a little longer

When the threads appear separated and each have been pulled

but the body mindlessly follows a habit of irrelevant sleep

When time still goes by while the body remains still.

 

There is a feeling that I can accomplish I want to accomplish

There is a feeling that I can push through and beat the odds

Encouraged by those in awe

Discouraged by own self

Forever trying to walk through the wall having hit it

Wallowing in the disarray of scheduling, of assignments, of future goals

If only time would cease, so as to give more time, grasping at nonexistent entities,

And we, stop.

 

What is the purpose?

What is the purpose of trying to do everything?

What is the purpose of working so hard, knowing that there is a possibility of no results?

What is the purpose of training the body to mindlessly carry out a routine that no longer appears relevant?

What is the purpose...what is the purpose...

 

While I, everyone, grasps at time, pleading it to slow down, pleading it to no avail

Goals etched in the brain from societal pressures

Goals etched into speech, goals etched into actions, goals etched into every fiber of the body

But these threads cannot be differentiated

These threads are jumbled in a tangle of incongruency and confusion

Why? What is worth grasping now?

Time? Pleasure? 

What is the purpose. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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