Command

Light up sarcasm
Curled up
To hide from the lights
Dissonances
Finding a way to meaning
Find some way
To make it through this tiresome
Command the lungs
The next last breath has yet to come
I would be willing to live
With you I would be willing to laugh
emphasize the tensions
Stay nonchalantly unconcerned I
Do believe that you can
For the times that you care less
I will believe for you
Don’t walk away so quickly
I believe you
You will find your dream
Stretch
I would love to go

Thoughts

For the times despairing, contentedness
The times crying, peace
For the times inhibited, freedom
The times beat down, courage
For the times lacking, persistence
The times bitter, a smile
For the times with money, forgiveness
The times without, rest
For the times with laughter, depth
The times without, a vacation

Let the Last Day of Work be First

Un-productivity are simply those who spend their day
staring, staring at sky-gray, stuck on boredom, whiling 'way.
Hands say 'please, grant me today! let me craft and mold the clay!'
Staring eyes say 'Hey, no way! I don't want you bruised today!'
Horrible fate; wrecked display! What dreams slain to join this fray...

But eyes that dream, hands obey, or death would sooner come betray.
Worlds have burned and come what may but all that's left is memory
So one must work the craft to stay and please our mind of yesterday
For in those hands that fateful day will hold the blue depths of gay
-- Man's height: Mozart, Monet -- All one needs: realize today.

Does art that shines with lasting sheen stand by buildings smiling green?
It works day & night for eternity (will smile on those who earn their means.)
They swim all day in endless sea, bigger, bigger than one's dream .
For memory of the employees, stands as one: the company.
And for all sacrificing fees, they are productivity!

But what's the end when all is old; Buildings dead; hands bled-cold,
When staring eyes are quiet and lulled, great franchises crumbling, sold?
We must work hard if we be told that all our work has turned to gold.
Hurry now! The clock has tolled, our dreaming hours less controlled!
Hands must go and fight, be bold, before they fall into the mold.

Summer

The cold of your toes
Upon my pale skin
Is still better than
The sticky plastic phone
With unfeeling buttons

Growing Older, Away

'Falling from the tree' is never an analogy that makes the young ones yearn
for simple ways on sweeter days like finding that seven-letter word
precious hours and shafted minutes on games, chuckling and taking turns;
yet here i am slipping, not far, but far from my tree while hearing them laugh around the bend.

Transition took time to figure out my line of work and all that I have earned
I am finding a way to desire and dream while rowing to get through the storm.
For no shame on me; time will not waste me and i will have through experience learned;
but my views of restless drudgery have changed since i've 'become somebody' and since I have left the farm.