The In-Box

by Intente's Pupil


Fraught with so many to-do’s
this In-Box became the mistress
a long time ago.

She rules over my day
and I acquiesce
silent, reluctant, compliant.

I never thought it possible
a despot in my time
in this place
at my age.

At times I try to protest
and change my condition
but every try falls
into an echo of vapid intentions:
immobility.

Time is held and with it my dreams.
Purpose,
the ignis fatuus of our generation
deceives my young soul.
Besotted with the learned hopes
of meaning —what meaning?—
I find myself playing the pond
in this gambit she calls my life.

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