My Thing

The early morn of a day off and I sit here doing what I do best

Reflecting on the trouble of my toils

Always looking back and looking forward to what was and what can be

That is my constant present

Glimpses of the past colored with dreams of the future in the forest of my life

I guess this is my thing

This is my living in the moment

This is my living on a prayer

This is my commune with the nature of my being

My brain is constantly creating,  looking for that one item of thought that will launch my next inspiration

Of these there are many and many and many

Limitless tangents from which to spring forward toward a different path of livelihood

Word art that will allow me to finally rise to the occasion

(I do not what I am and yet what I am inspires all I do)

Interesting on the day that celebrates the worker

How I focus on the work to come and the work I yearn to complete

I must sound like a broken record traversing through that avenue of mild accomplishment as I cross the boulevard of broken dreams

But it is my record and my song and I guess I can sing it until the day I don’t sing it anymore

The day when these aspirations of mine find repose and a home

The day when the toasts across a table will be for the destination and not the journey

The day when my friends (the truest of them) will see the person they knew was there all along

Till then, we toil 

Till then, we labor

Till then, on this Monday of rest we wait for Tuesday’s reminder that work awaits and the back burner will keep our never too distant dreams on simmer


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