shoestrings – a poem

Shoestrings (ignorance is bliss)

We cannot think first and act afterwards. From the moment of birth we are immersed in action.
Alfred North Whitehead

For some the days ache
As each passes
Until they find the things
They think they need
What they don’t realize
Is that the ache?
Does not cease
It’s swallowed
By circumstance.
What we swallow
Does pass in time
But not before it warps us
Wrinkling our perception,
In unexpected ways
Circumstance is
The sole reason for living
It is not what we think it should be
It is what serendipity stumbles upon
It is a laboring drunken giant,
Over loose soil, continuing forward
While we without thought
Repeatedly attempt to trip
This giant with our shoestrings
This exercise victimizes our wants,
Unwillingly shoving us
As it would the soil
Into an unexpected
Abstract world of possibilities
When all we can see
On the surface
Are the initial actions?
And their given reactions
The apparent successes of bravado
Shaking the foundations
In random ways
As each footstep
Imprints on another
Bringing maybes to life
This near futile tedious,
Depressing process
Ache those that admire
The giant’s bravado
Leading them toward an epiphany
And attempts to create fate
Because they realize
Why they are they hold
Their shoestrings in hand