Almost endless years of school Countless hours of study Promotions moving ever up An awful sense of duty To be the expert and make change A constant goal since youth Use of hands and head at once Connecting truth with truth Explore and build to meet demand Reflect on what's been made More to know you've done it right Than strictly to get paid A phantom of some lingering dream Haunting daily chores Wants unmet in truthful life Like salt in open sores No new ideas are his today Great works he builds no more He simply gathers and compiles Then brings it to the fore With words they laud and stroke him Encourage, praise and bless But in his mind he is a fraud A parrot or even less
I’ve always liked writing, but rarely get a chance to write things not formal, technical, or even worse… bureaucratic. Given my background, you’d think anything artistic would have atrophied years ago, and in truth it probably has. However, though unqualified and not particularly gifted, every once in a while I get an urge to dust off the non-analytical parts of my self and see just how much of it is left.
In a home filled with artistic, musical, and literary talent, I often end up filling the requirement for an audience. It’s unlikely anyone would ask me to perform when they have access to Liz, Sydney, and Isaac. Over the years, I’ve been less and less likely to publicly attempt any form of art. Even deciding to post this to be visible for the three or so people who might occasionally read this blog has been an internal struggle.
That said, I had a few hours to myself this morning after taking Sydney to her EARLY morning babysitting job, and didn’t want to go back to bed for fear of waking Liz. The urge came upon me to write, so I did.
Shiftless anticipation Stirred by clouded foresight Knowing that life is a journey To struggle, to labor, to fight How many rounds 'till it's over? Will I overcome in the end? Have I strength and the power For these care burdened hours? Not to crack, not to buckle nor bend? Blind in a void of unknowing There's something required of me Yet I can't quite descry it Or even imply it Such a hungry desire to see... So reluctantly I've followed Paths thought hidden and crookedly bent Longing for places I've already been Guided by signposts unseen As I wonder to whom I am sent Certainly something is building Each step has a purpose occult Guided to paths I've not wanted By a prod, a hard nudge, or a jolt Weakness calls out now to slumber Says it always works out in the end Doubting there's life can I touch Often too weak to do much Tapped out, no strength left now to lend Stop on the way and set down your load Let some other son pick up the slack Rest for a season right where you stand Drop the burdens now placed on your back Reality's quick with the answer: Sleep is the prodigal's child No gift that you claim Is for those of your name It is wrong from your neighbor to hide In answer I cry out in anquish Fatigue swelling large in my breast I have done what I can When is it enough? Must I really go on without rest? When the strength is all gone And my will neigh to break A lantern shows dimly ahead Another's weak glimmer drives shadows away Their light extinguishes dread It winks to me comfort and courage It tells me that I'm not alone You're smart and you're strong And you will carry on We'll continue together 'till done So into the darkness one nudge at a time Groping and feeling my way Hoping and praying the work that I do Will brighten another's dark day