It’s all a blur: death, grief, success, love, loss.
They pass me by like taxis in the rain.
Urgency rules. Haste is my albatross.
Reasons dissolve before I can ask why.
I cannot see the raindrops for the fountains.
An algorithm tells me what I like.
Perspective’s dead—events are now all mountains
That last no longer than a lightning strike.
My world’s full of unmet anticipation.
The fleeting trifle has authority.
The only rhythm is acceleration.
The only constant is inconstancy.
What comes won’t stay; what counts goes by too fast.
Death, grief, success, love, loss—they never last.
Copyright 2017 Matthew J Wells
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