Monday, November 3, 2014

That one night filled with blood

Time moves slow
Sluggish as molasses 
Always it seems,
  To remind you of 
     Your progress, non progress 

Whether the air be crisp with cold
Or heavy with heat
It seems a constant reminder. 
What you want but haven't achieved 
 Of prospects so distant in the future 
    As to seem almost invisible 

You see life in the cold, 
  Stifling pressure in the heat 

Your mind struggles to find 
Whence at last you grow weary 
 And throw yourself into that 
 Light or heavy wind 

Where you land, you have no care 
    At least it's done 

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