Feeling the pulse of humanity,
is a troublesome affair,
that leads to much pain,
and too much waiting,
for something, anything.

The heart beats,
the blood flows,
and change fails,
to show its face.

Every major event is just another beat,
in a series of dull thumps leading to nothing.

The static existence continues on,
with no hope of its end in sight,
and no prayers for a new beginning.

People tug one another along,
and the beat never changes;
Sacrifices are required,
but only of those paying attention,
which is to say almost nobody.

A dull poem is a fair representation,
of the person who monitors existence,
far too closely for it to be enjoyable.

The unexamined life is not worth living,
but one examined too closely ends all joy;
a balance must be created and maintained.