I have struck a match.
We are goinggoinggoing never stopping
for there are no stops on this melting ball
of burning wax are there?
Our breath runs frantic, like a dizzy child:
“catch me if you can!” It cries, and we cannot,
because
we are too busy living.
And we runrunrun all day long – frenzied (friends?) panicking.
For what? For Academia, an honor, true,
though one deprived of sleep.
Oh, weep: we are wandering wonderfully well
through the hell of burning this candle,
spurred endlessly on by the incessant tickticktick of the
(too fast)
grandfather of time.
Here we gogogo until we—
Full. Stop.
—and I am lost in the ecstasy of
one
spare
second
(oh so spare are my spare seconds,
so very few and
far between).
We are burning brightly, nightly, politely,
killing our candles with light until
we are extinguished.