the sitting in school
angry at the teachers because
the thought is that they are
somehow responsible for the
passage of time not spent doing
the things that one feels defines
their existence, the time
restrained by those who raise
one---those who expend finance,
energy & emotion to ensure
one’s survival, the creeping in
of the work force---once thought
to provide everything (when one
wasn’t a part of the machine) &
now realized to offer nothing
of any real substantial longstanding
value, only scraps from the table
(a table that gets pulled away
inch by inch, year by year, quicker
& quicker) &
though one might have been
downright horrendous
when it came to math,
the addition here is relatively
simple.
0 + 0 = 0.
comes a times when
the ticking of the clock isn’t
terrifying as it was in
youth but instead it
brings with it the notion
that every heartbeat is one
closer to the end, rather than
some sort of indication of
how much there is to be
done, how many tasks need
to be accomplished because
it will bring one to some kind
of certain success or feeling
of fulfillment.
all time is borrowed,
taken from the pool of
unrenewable resource,
with waves that fluctuate
of their own accord, with
no rhyme, no reason &
no apologies.
