What must lie at the end of a thought?
Is there any consequence
to a slowly turning clock?
Do the days turn slower
when the sun looks elsewhere?

A hand grips my mind,
its sinewy fingers clench
the wrinkles and folds.
Once active synapses
fire out into a blank abyss.

The power goes out
in this new part of town
while the denizens lay dormant
with nary a twitch to turn them out
they remain clueless to progress.

Humanity slips from the fingers
once clenched around autonomy.
What becomes of the individual
when society can’t find its way in?

Does the world spin on, uninterrupted,
or is there a new impetus for some small change?
Does the inaction of one, cause reactions from many
or do we slip by unnoticed, mere drops in a stream?