There’s nothing wrong with being productive,
if you have to be productive.
Yet when every second of the day
and as every day fades away,
and at years end it leads you to say
-where has it all gone?, then something is wrong.
And what is “have to”?
Is it similar to having to breath,
or is it you know not another way.
Programmed. A sorrowful single current sea,
so fearful to just be.
A stubborn pillar erect and steadfast yet with fleeting purpose
amongst the rubble of the magnificent atrium that was to exist.
We are supposed to sleep eat and shit our days away.
That’s why we are here.
Why must we feel guilty for a gift given.
Why must we bring hell to everywhere we find heaven
Would you tolerate a child’s refusal to play with the toy you gave him
When it only seems to fills him with fear.
The child with worry in his brow,
will he use this toy as efficiently as possible.
Will his small hands find the always urgent desire to improve it.
Will he find away to carry it with him always,
not as a toy but as a burden.
Surly you wish not the puzzled puppy eyes looking to you.
For the simple joys he shuns always getting February from May
and to the natural world he becomes an orphan.
And what would you have to say to this boy?
A sympathetic speech to derive the difference from being driven
and driving your life away.
How often the tragedy when a gift leaves one confused.
The words you leave that troubled child
may be the same your god has for you.
