Many a tortoise
many a hare
Trying to catch up
trying to overtake
Days going past
the horizons of grind
Coming back with
a new date and name
Not much in the way
of meaning or make
having changed in the planet's
spinning about itself
Content of the day
drained of contentment
Hours twenty-four
emptied of moments
A void widening
to engulf us each
as we busy ourselves being
both, the hare and the tortoise
When days are mere
ways to ensnare
to ambitions futile
and rut glorified
Going in circles
goes by the name of life
A race that is lost
before it commenced
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