"I have measured my life in coffee spoons” -Prufrock
“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
What advantage does a man have in all his work which he does under the sun.”
Ecclesiastes 1: 2,3
Quarter - filled cups of coffee,
Shadowed stains below the band.
Cooled liquid, thick and soiled,
Etched foam, marked by hand.
Appearance of apparent progress,
Concrete marks of constant time.
Accompanied by piles of paper,
Crumpled calendars, plans sublime.
Of what reward do hours meed?
Riches and honor untold?
What state does watched time translate?
Unused potential to save and hold?
Three - quarter empty cups of coffee,
Symbols unfinished and undone.
Epochs spent on early ambition,
Numerous laps short, the race not won.
Lurking depths of unrequited desire,
Taciturn anger behind the smile,
Endless action churning piles of perception,
Steps no closer to the next mile.
Will the minutes always last?
What price is one to pay?
When activity is ambiguous and prostituted
and success is a shade of gray.
The trap has sprung inescapable.
The suction stronger than my will.
No one there to loose or care,
Fractions of effort to close the sill.
Those dreams seem marathons away.
No tunnel light, no ray, no rule.
Only a vast wasteland of utopian ideas and funny ambition.
I laugh at myself - the fool.
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