Stagnance

It's as if everything is standing still.  There is only so much of straight up school-life you can take.  Eventually, you are going to become fed up with/bored of it all, and your entire life is going to seem lack-luster.  You get burnt-out on it.  And you start to develop that slowly constant growch mood, where everything seems like a hassle and nothing seems beneficial.

I'm sorry to simply talk about negative things, but i just am having trouble seeing the good/the important lately.  Mortality is a daunting figure.  And it is difficult to cope with life.  I should be over this hump, but it just seems to keep coming back.  And as it does, i feel constantly as though i am slowly becoming more and more distanced from people.  Maybe poetry is the answer.

O Captain! My Captain!

1

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!	5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;	10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,	15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;	20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead. Walt Whitman (1819–1892).  Leaves of Grass.  1900.