The Only Work I Know

O I am truly weary, truly tired
Mayhap some other, better day
My thoughts are lofty and inspired
Today, though, all in all the world’s dismay

What though the sunshine pour so golden down
When there’s no one to point it to
Respond with aught but vacant frown
Nor any joy allow me them renew

For though I cocreate a better day
Into it energy have thrown
Any that muster up I may,
In this now moment I grow old alone

There are just one or two who care for me
Keeping me from the worst of throes
None happily companion be
For they are “these” and, to them, I am “those”

Tomorrow physical pain may abate
Its dawn may see my spirits rise
Its evening find me working late
To issue statements fair and true and wise

Or maybe such are not e’en any so
Perhaps they’re truly valueless
Those words which on my branches grow
And drop beneath — I vainly thought — to bless

Sojourners who, whilst passing therebelow
Perhaps upon their way might wish
Some valuable insight know —
Perhaps all that I offer’s gibberish

Perhaps an idiot is all I really be
Contributing but chaos to
‘Stead of the wisdom thought I see
So happy was to pass then on to you

Perhaps nobody treasures anybody now
Perhaps nobody ever did
Perhaps I need only allow
This world its own light; only keep mine hid

Which holds daily affection possible
Nor constant stay on guard for lies
And statements unamenable
Catching me by their unpleasant surprise;

Which holds a word once spoken to be true
Until by its own speaker known
Equally honestly undo
Accommodating ways which he hath grown;

Which honor holds above mere pleasure, and
No quarter gives convenience
At Fancy’s whimsical demand
But exercises self in love’s defense

Perhaps. Or perhaps not. But either way
To sit at my workstation go
I will, and early in the day:
The only work the way to which I know



Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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