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.

-Iflah Laraib