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.
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