Its a bit macabre, but I like it. Someone said something that got me to thinking, which got me to writing.

The steady silent juggernaut
Drones on
Stony indifferent scowl
Oblivious
To the ropes tied to it

Pulling it forward, dragging it back
All the little ants
With their
Heels firmly dug in
Feet kicking
Mouths open in agony

Those ants
Whose
frustrated
cries and pleas,
For haste or hesitance
combined will,
Oaths to God Himself
Cannot amount to so much
As a tickle or prick
The ears
The skin
Never reach the heart
Or change the pace

And day after day it methodically barrels on
So fast or slow it goes unnoticed, so slow or fast it causes panic
Crushing lives and empires
Wearing away everything

And the ants below
Continue to push and pull
Begging for something to change
For one minute more or less
Spending their days tugging it in this direction or that
Constantly switching
Until finally
They themselves succumb
Under its weight

Ground to dust

In time.

"How my current plans have affirmed my mortality" or "Goddamn. I'm leaving my job in two days and and turning 30 in two months"

It's a common plot theme. Someone always begs for a few more minutes of life. It happens, one way or another. The young cancer victim, the rich old man that squandered it all, the villain trying to cut a deal, the immortal who thought they wanted nothing more. Most normal, healthy people don't realize it. usually. Or maybe they do. Maybe after enough goodbyes, or enough chapters close, or enough opportunities are realized they realize that, yes Virginia, they too will die. Probably not today, odds are not tomorrow, but nobody makes it outta here alive.
So, there I was, cleaning my room...
Cleaning has a meditative effect like few other things. It gives you something to focus on, which keeps your mind from wandering too much, while not challenging it enough to keep it fully occupied. The one thing that kept coming to mind was the end of this current volume in my life, and how I wish I can't stop it from happening. Can't even slow it down. Not one bit. I was thinking about this earlier this month. I know this because I penned a poem spontaneously about it. If I had access to it here at work, I'd share a piece. I realized, before I know it, I'll be wrapping up my next adventure. Not the one I'm about to embark on, but the following one. The one I haven't paid for or planned yet. And I'll be at my desk again, doing FKnows. It'll be about the next trip, the next adventure, and life will continue on some other sub par level, hesitantly awaiting with baited breath the next adventure.
And it's all grinding to a halt. Slowly. So slowly all we can do is look back on it and mistake it for a blur rather than a smear.

I'm not going to stop getting older
Life isn't going to slow down
If it did, I'd probably only get more bored by my little life.

Interesting.