We the people
are a Sisyphean collective
our punishment: progressing humanity

With fiery eyes  and frothing mouth
we charge towards  its surfaces
bashing those with scrawny shoulders
ricochet like sparks from flint
watch as we fall back
how it moves a fraction of a hair length
knowing that
if all our efforts were combined
surely, humanity would’ve accelerated

But we the people
are a democratic anarchy
each one to their own

Each thrusts towards their own direction
each blow is counterbalanced by another
as we foam like sea surf on a shoal
crushing from all sides
and our humanity
crawls in place amongst us

For we, the people
are a paradox of will
the driving, and the stalling force

Insignificantly small, with significant resistance
the viscous drag that ebbs and flows
a choreography of chaos and confusion
we are so many
so many more

And humanity is singular
a monument to our failures
its minuscule fluctuations
a testament of battles fought
but from a far, and from way forward
it is but a speck of dust
which, ever silent, floats
throughout the cosmos

The truth is
There’s always dishes to do
a floor to mop up
a phone call to make
food to cook
fences to paint
people to see
about a dog, about a cat

About a life
you never own up to
because of all the little hurdles
all the small achievements
you rake in your confined Zen garden
neatly piling skipping stones
as if boulders don’t exist outside
as if there’s no mountains that require scaling
as if the big issues
Who you are? Why you are? When will you be?
are not looming over in the distance
casting shadow in the twilight of your days

The truth is
all these notches on your belt
are the sum effort of your laying lows
the trophies for your standing stills
the “what if”s you stifle into the pillow
because you know the odds
never scale with the effort

Truth is
minimal struggle dictates the average
but you decide on the endeavor
blessed are the meek
for they shall inherit the barrens