In mediocrity, there’s complacency,
an uneasy sense of non-urgency.
Thick as molasses, dragging my ass off;
a self-made Hades, I can’t seem to cast off.
Chills up my spine creep into my mind,
freezing thoughts in space and time.
I wish they ran smooth, warm and collected
like shells on a beach that’s connected
to the birth of a race, our humble beginnings.
I think I’ll return, start planning my trip and
when I arrive, dive deep in the waters;
find calm and peace in something that matters.
For right now, purpose all but eludes me.
Long winter nights hardly amuse me.
Mundane tasks bear down like a mass.
Three more months? Don’t think I can last.