Muffled
Wrapped in activity.
Silenced by lists.
Unbalanced by notifications.
Paralysed by piles that teeter – underpinned by hurry.
Tormented by ticking time.
Bewildered and frowning… how can it possibly now?
Already. Unready. Too late.
What was progress?
Pursued by the howling of regret.
Scrabbling, crabbily for a foot hold in the slippery rock,
tugged down, tanglefoot by judgements – real and imaginary.
Exhausting undercurrents. Sweat smeared my vision.
If only I could climb up, away from this roaring
and stand in the cool quiet to know how deep the water…
how far the peaceful distant shore
and where the monsters really lurk.
