. . . surrounded by stacks of files and listening to the ever jolly holiday tunes on the radio. The files of people’s lives meant nothing to him. He loathed his job. He despised the stupidity and slap-dashedness of colleagues and those who worked in the organizations that were used for other aspects of the process of which he was at the arse-end of.
And added to it all was the fact that today was payday, yet here he sat, looking at the computer monitor in front of him. The bank’s website showed him the truth, though there were occasions where even they would lie to him, drawing him deeper into the smothering feeling of poverty and self-loathing.
“Fifty-eight dollars and change”, he thought.
He clicked the “Log Out” button and hung his head, letting out a short, raspy, life-weary sigh.
His hands lifted and cupped his head. His wearisome, fatigued and stressed head. His throat now felt like someone was gently choking him, the same kind of throttling that he last experienced when his doctor checked his glands. His eyes felt like they were bulging dams, ready to release the salty streamlets of sorrow that his soul, or at least what was left of it, wanted to free for all eternity . . .
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My thoughts on my life in January 2007
Mr. Davies was right:
“A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare”.
But it has been so long
Since I last reveled in Nature’s wonder
And wandered in woodland and over field.
Long since I lay down
And closed my eyes to hear and smell
The lifeforce around me.
And quaffed at its fountain
Of revitalization and tasted its
Sweet invigorating nectar.
But now I sit and stress
About everything and everyone and
Circumstances I find for myself.
I sit and dream, and think
Upon all the things I’ve lost and gained
In my life that is stagnant, yet ever-changing.
I hold my children tight
On times and feel the love flow between us
Unconditional and warm, as only a parent and child knows.
But the love begets worry
Of the self-same parent who knows they should
Be doing more to make the great men within those boys.
My heart’s sweet love is held
As we meld together, bodies and minds
Dreams and fears shared; plans and wishes made.
But bright spots in the fog
Of directionless wisdom and targetless energy
Are they and those moments outside of life.
And so judgements will be made
And the comments shall flow from friend
And from enemy and those in between those poles.
Yet I shall listen deafly
Proudly walking the trail blindly
Silently telling my fears and asking for aid.
My Life’s path I cannot see.
Where have I gone? I know that.
Where am I yet to go? I know not.
My compass has lost its bearings;
My map is torn and illegible;
My guide has deserted me.
My body and mind and spirit
Seem eternally tired and ready
For sleep at a moment’s notice.
So, I am waiting for the muse
And inspiration to hit me like Paul so I too
Can have direction and meaning and purpose in life.
But I know what needs to be done;
What rules laid down and timetables etched
In the fabric of space and time for all to adhere to.
What compass should be used
And the lines and colors of the new map to be followed
And the guides I should be seeking to assist and urge me onwards.
Yet anxious of failure and of success;
Of alienation and familiarity; of all and of nothing.
Of becoming a muse of humanity or yet maybe its dregs.
This piece of creative writing, and more, can be found in the second volume of my collected works, Morning Meeting and other works (In My Words Vol. 1), which is available for purchase only on Amazon Kindle, for just $1.99!
This is an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.