“Time and Tide wait for no man”
When one’s small world is spinning out of control…
as pressure builds from the hot heavy tears sitting perched just behind straining eyes…
the screaming voices of
Russian hackers, love-in entertainers and national upheaval over an all things political…
pales greatly in comparison to the heaviness weighing upon one’s heart….
that which comes from the uncontrollable spinning of the circumstance of one’s life…
contrary to our egoistical presumptions,
cares not for our feeble planning…
Our only recourse…?
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
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