An Ode to Stagnation (the Student’s song)

Whispers creep into sleeping ears

promises of something more, or else-

the sleeper slumbers oh so softly

half formed concepts appearing, disintegrating,

harrying her inner self.

Thoughts cluster, clamouring for attention;

a plan, a dream, a vision,

they flicker into momentous being

and fade

a passing disturbance.

The sleeper tumbles through her dreams,

cotton grasping at her form.



she considers.

“Thoughts are but ripples of potential future

rising and falling

as if they were the tide.

They feed and destroy,

plant seeds of imagination

fuelled by what cannot be,

-or at least-

what cannot be

in the here

and now.”

she shivers, yet sleeps on.

It’s cruel work done,

the thought sinks below the surface



Any semblance of peace is shattered

as sheets tangle around restless limbs.

A barrage of invasive alarms sound,

an unwelcome morning chorus

chirping in the sullen light.

the sleeper wakes,

her first sound a worn out sigh.


but five more minutes sleep-

a groan,

the button’s hit


And repeat, and repeat,

and repeat




Today is the same

as before,

and the same

as tomorrow,

until time coils out of sight-

a mass of endless,

empty nothing

a void

where change should be.

the sleeper moves heavily,

as if in suspended animation-

perhaps she is.

She sits

in her nest of warmth

-an automaton-

-still cold-

 pondering forward in consternation.

There must be some use

for the endless murmurings

of the unused brain.

there must be more to do

than simply

exist .

there must be

something more,

or else-

only stagnation awaits young minds.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s