I'm running,
wheezing,
out of breath-
This marathon of life.
A rest,
a break
is all I want,
But there's no end in sight.
"Don't go too fast
through life!" they say.
I wish, I want,
I try.
At night I rush
through mounds of work,
hurrying to bed
Only 'cause I know
in morning
the race will start again.
Speed to the store,
slurp up my food...
I just don't have the time.
I'm learning in class
the pleasures of life;
Thoreau says,
don't work 'till you die.
I sit in class
and ponder this,
my planner by my side.
Its pages are filled-
tasks and to-dos-
with classwork
and what Thoreau writes.
By Dale Mott Slater