Poem: There Has Been No Rest

There Has Been No Rest

Not enough time exists
for any of it to be spent
on resting, on being restored:
it would be folly.  The world is moving,
is always at pace, jogging forward,
sprinting, even, maybe.  It is always going,
and each moment is needed, now,
to stay upright, to not fall and slide away:
the pace is set.  It must be kept, must be held to.
It does not matter the consequence, the loss:
what else is there now?  It is so long,
I do not remember what was before,
do not recall it except as a way I once was.
I've no way to know any longer.
Maybe I am always dreaming now,
am too tired to be awake in any moment.
It might explain the strangeness,
the thinness that the air has taken on.
I do not know.  It would take time to know,
but I am busy, am committed and invested,
have no spare moments.  They do not exist,
not any longer.  There is still a bit of sleep,
of course, there is that, but always, then,
the dreams.

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