Busyness, As Usual

He looked up at me, with dulled, mournful eyes
Torn momentarily from his job in hand
By my tacit intrusion
‘What do you want?’
He asked

‘I want you to see through what you’re doing’
I replied
‘So that you can have a life
Beyond your passing of time from cradle to grave
Where you no longer need to feel so oppressed
By such conflict of interest
Between who you are
And who you think you are
Once told that you must
Abandon all trust
And find hope instead
In infinite dread
And so turn away
From the bright light of day
That calls you to play
And work Hell for Leather
In Order to tether
The love of your life
To trouble and strife

Can’t you see if you will
Spit out that sweet pill
What joy we could find
To save humankind
From suffering the pain
Of endless disdain
At the hands of the story
That calls all to glory
By weeding them out
Without casting a clout
From where they belong
In the summer of song
Which draws all its zest
From the silence of rest
In winter’s warm furring
And nightjar’s churring
At the slide of the day
And the smell of the May
That blossoms from furling
With petals uncurling
From deep in their womb
Protected in gloom

All you have to do
Is dissolve all that glue
That keeps you attached
To your egg once you’ve hatched
And open up space
From that place of disgrace
Stuck in the corner
Like little Jack Horner
With dunce’s cap on
Until with aplomb
You stick up your digit
And scramble to fidget
Your way out of limbo
By marrying that Bimbo
Who won’t trouble to question
Your harsh indigestion
From having to swallow
What can only bring sorrow
From your sovereign right
To run from your fright
And stiffen in vertex
To save your day from yielding to night’

He looked back at me, in disbelief
And his eyes welled up with the waters of grief
As his mouth opened wide and said
‘I’ve no time for that, it’s over my head
Now please leave me alone
With the life that I own
It’s time for my bed’