By flesh, by ache, by inertia, by ennui.
By entropy, illusion, confusion, delusion.
All these conspire
to keep me marking time.
I take up space -
a non-contributor in life.
Held in place.
I am frightened
by the future.
Afraid that things wonąt ever be different;
that, as the years roll past me,
I will remain unchanged.
An alarming concept.
Will my life repeat endlessly in this loop,
or is it a drawn out tunnel, with no relief?
Will my dark, constant companion never leave?
Hope is fleeting.
Return to Main Page