Stagnant

There used to be motion

Endless notions

Restlessness

Stirrings of everything

That could have been possible

There used to be flowing

Between ideas and creation

Wafting of verdant imagination

Of tales untold bursting

At straining seams

Then life took hold of limited space

Filled with responsibilities

And upward mobilities

Social climbing

Regardless of rising ages

And failing faculties

And at this pinnacle

Or deep deep valley

Standing still or sitting

The air is still,

unmoving

Stale

Like the flow of ideas

And gravitational motivation

Becoming

Motionless

Unmoving

Stagnant.

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