Meandering, pointless beyond recognition,
oblivious to the cause of this condition.
Inspiration once near is now slipping away.
Without passion to cling to, no spark lights the way.
Relentless, intimidating uncertainty
eliminates the trace of possibility.
Idealistically idle, unable to move.
Far too much left to learn, but still more left to prove.
Almost there, but not quite yet.
A given I'm not sure I'll get.
Sense and reason say take it slow,
but impatience has begun to grow.
Hour by hour the minutes creep,
while I wonder if I'm in too deep.
Within my grasp, but still out of reach.
Another day stalled in the breach.
The higher I climb, the deeper I fall.
Doing whatever I can just to stall
the inevitable realization that I'm lost
behind some imaginary line that I've crossed.
No rescue in sight, no plan of attack.
Hoping against hope that I'll find my way back.
Biding and wasting my time until then
and wondering how this could have happened again.
Its withered, folded pages
tell the story of a story
that's been told a thousand times.
Yet each time,
with every new detail discovered,
every character nuance now understood,
the story is reborn
and the old pages, once faded and worn,
come alive, anew,
to tell their story once more
as if never before.
Exceeding capacity, ready to break.
Exaggerated desire my only mistake.
Overwhelmed by sensation, my self-control lost.
Overzealous consumption; now counting the cost.
In time this discomfort will all fade away,
instigating another ravenous display.
Until then I'll ponder this wanton concern.
Unfortunately, I'll probably still never learn.