fight the flux

Nothing to surprise onlookers
Cookers boiling with brothing bubbles
of escaping gasses
As it passes
Time winks its lazy eye
Am I left to simply try?
Swept like barley or rye
Into mission or mishap
Some ignorant sap
In hope of a map
toward oblivion
Or is purpose my charge?
On this slow moving barge
Out to sea on the river so large
I believe in a plan
So I'll do what I can
And leave the rest to
the maker of man

All rights reserved to James Martin Cox