They swarm in and dash out
leave a piece or two, strewn about
like jejune figures, they graze
past my profound, pervasive gaze
while I stand frozen, buried
neck deep in a quag, harried.
Exhausted, of all the rush
of all the speed and chase; too much.
Waiting for the sweetness of eternal slumber
keeping away from hands that lumber
to drag me out and pull me in
to their world of perceptions so paper-thin.