there is too little
as of late
thoughts flow like
molasses
and the arteries of inspiration
are clogged
the clock has run it’s course
forward
toward
the end of an era
yet the morning still feels
rushed

i remember a time when
each day awoken
the world was
an undiscovered token

now however
a distilled quiet sets in
until the point where we are
unjustly repeated
and slowly defeated
caught between
the moment of
anticipation and anxiety

living laggard
in limbo

it’s a hat trick
a switch
a nervous little twitch
and in the end
it’s all the same
muttering and stuttering
like an over-medicated prophet

we were promised that life
would not be
a zero sum game
give and take
in hopes to make
a brilliant flame

now with beacons that loom on the horizon
and forceful fires lit
we are eyeing a fixed point of light
as we set sail once again
refusing to quit

the archetypes struggle
for the position of quartermaster
and the course is caught in
an uncertain cadence

however

the math never lies
one equals two and two equals three
following the procession

forever rebels are we