Incomplete Progress

Arms churn, a windmill in the tide,

A frantic dance, nowhere to confide.

The surface mocks, a shimmering deceit,

A false horizon, progress incomplete.

We kick and strain, a desperate ballet,

Muscles scream, lungs burning for a way

To break the cycle, gasp a breath of air,

But every stroke just keeps us tethered there.

The water's hold, a chilling, silent friend,

Numbs the will, whispers the bitter end.

Treading water, a drowning slow and sure,

Hope's flickering flame flickers dimmer, pure.

Is there a shore? A hand to reach and pull?

Or just this endless, churning, empty lull?

For in this struggle, staying just afloat,

The line is blurred, a deadly, silent note.