We Think and We Do Nothing

Care to think of yourself, Sieving through the mundane, I wonder if you're expecting anything, Is this the life, or has it not yet begun? If so, then what is it that is this? A preparation, a practice, perhaps An exhibition? Or is it the one true thing, Has it started? Am I too late, Should I begin leaving my words behind Lest I dare be carried downstream, And continue dreaming the world's end, Hopelessly begging, "When will life begin?" As it slowly inches past me.