Progress

I
I quiver. Hope brakes do not hold.
Joy extreme. Possibility plays, taunts
edges out peace. Invokes must now.

II
Turn to and shove. Push. Prod
Life into actuality. Sweat trickles
muscles strain. Knot this life.

III
Not-quite contentment lies
in the periphery. More like ease.
Still not peace. Less hope than fatigue.
Or cessation perhaps
removes burdens
lessens anxiety. Whatever.
Stillness is ok by me. Now.