Plodding,
Epochs plodding.
It is the nasty, sticky, thumping,
Hollow, resounding, slow-motion plodding
Of blasted epochs.
No one can accept it,
But this mucky plodding progress
Is much more mine than theirs.
Footfalls, fallen empires,
Brain waves thick as mud.
Plodding through hate,
Fattened through the years of feast and pride;
And plodding through hardy prejudice,
Pacing with the drums of greed and fear;
And ignoble ignorance plods with us,
Plodding.
Hollow epoch hearts roll bubbling and molten
Through dull seasons and predictable pitfalls.
We are always disappointed but never dismayed.
It's better this way,
Better this plodding blasted shit
Than knowing we are getting nowhere
Because we do not understand where we are.
