Ado About Nothing Much

All the people who are living
Can’t seem to stop themselves bustling,
One great seething stream of living,

Which becomes more astonishing
When you yourself are withdrawing—
Not that you would expect the world

To slow its quotidian flow,
To pause in its daily hustle
Just because one you is dying—

One and many yous are always
Dying, every moment somewhere—
But as you slow and brace yourself

For your gathering conclusion
The contrast becomes visible,
Vivid, between hurtling forward

And settling into quietude
Without so many distractions
Of the forever unfolding

Events and happenings that may
Or might not actually happen.
What was that all about, again?