Quicksand

There's a reaction that tenders no blame 

Standing across what you profile  

As you consider what has changed  

Every pigeonhole filled  

Every label sealed  

Why do you wander below the surface? 

To drain the focus  

From the periphery  

To haunt the causes that lie

But somehow they have power 

There's an alignment  

That transposed itself without effort  

A marching of time  

That heeds to no one  

If I could unscramble the water

From the quicksand 

I'd be standing

Then moving on solid ground 

What is it that I am asking? 

Time purifies intent upon survival  

A day when what I can do

Is find the will to move on dry land