A Cluttered Life

A Cluttered Life 

By William Stroud

Dust of cramped space disturbs me.

A swirling, uneasy feeling of mind cramps

Lingering with every sweep of the eye.

I hold my breath, suffocated breath

In the fully formed too much of everything.

To break away, an entry to heaven and

A cloudy sweetness of stepping freely and

Breathing more and deeply in a cleansing solace.

Clutter clutters all and swamps the mind.

No mind.  A wet and muddy stampede

That scatters things that matter.

The ant hill of think and do unhinges my 

Thinking and doing.

Yes, long dead William Wordsworth,

I marvel at your verity. The World is

Too much with us.

English Poet William Wordsworth, 1770-1850

The World Is Too Much With Us

BY William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.