#flailing
I sit here,
Like a beetle on it's back
In a crack of it's own design
Crafted it's own demise
Frantically flailing
Panicking mainly
Legs going every witch way,
Becoming to heavy
To reach out for help
No voice to call out for help
Though it tries
Not knowing it's already dead
Hope is the first thing that dies
Moments from the cruel hand dealt
By life itself
Exposing itself
As deaths right hand man
Still we fall for the bluff
And the universe doesn't listen to
"Enough is enough"
If you don't like it
Tough
©2025
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 8:53 PM UTC
Centuries stretch into decades
Decades crumble to years
Years dilute to months
Months spoil to weeks
Weeks transform to days
Days pass through hours
Hours scramble to minutes
Mintues fall onto seconds
And it goes and goes
With a logramthic speed
While I stand still
To contort some truth:
Man made measurments meticulously made
May mark mere moments
But
With words witheld within
Wallowing waves wash white, "whys?"
Away.
And...
I speak in riddles as I should
When faced with nothing
But left with the word "could?"
Could of? Of course. Could I? Yes.
I could do anything, definitely
But no I would never
It is a hopless endeavor
And death ushers who it will
And brings their heart to a still
As we all look to how old
To comfort us
From death's hold
For his grip is unrelenting, arbitary, overreaching and perpetual
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC