I believe – that there is a fear that fractures us all, as a generation
And I do not believe that there is a poetical way I can put this
So I’ll put it plainly
I am twenty two years old – and I feel like I am running out of time
That’s not to say I can explain away
The merciless waste of seconds I spend tending my coffee today-
Staring about the place
At no particular person
And in no particular space
Of my little time – I make the most
But as for my presence in the present? I am a ghost
In the moments when I stare into strangers
Never intentionally into their eyes, or words or particular parts
They may feel concern for the attention – but I have gone far
Lost in thoughts and fallen from the unfeeling frames of the first person
I tear apart another horror-piece of the hypocritical paradox, in which
I spend a forever that I don’t have – fearing an end I can’t stop
But instead of using the time I have ticking down while I have it – I drop
Only brought to when the stranger departs
And I feel a senseless sliver of time leaking out of me – my body clock sieving
But for some reason I can’t stop spending these hours on my fears
When I could be using every second of them on living
© Thomas Grice, 02/07/17
The Wit & Word 