Two steps forward, and one step back.
Moving at snail’s pace.
Running, as giants, in a rat-race.
Calming, but hurting.
Doing too much, doing too little.
Making ourselves formidably vulnerable, and then falling like skittles.
I’ll be breaking your door down.
I’ll be tearing down your walls, son.
And in the course,
With all this force,
And all this might,
With nothing but shallow foresight,