Why is pleasure measured in moments,
while work is measured in weeks or years?

Pleasures are like insubstantial fictions, sweet treats gone
in the tasting or perhaps flowers, that once cut, wither.
So don't be enthralled by fickle snippets of passion.

Work and service have the weight of reward,
by labor's honest toil, we fashion, forge and provide.

The invisible cloak gently floats
Brought about by fleeting thoughts
As negative ions continue to flow
Lo and behold
A weighted coat now soaked
It's heavy presence diverts growth

Complex context controlless
Slight shortness of breath
Shoulders and neck show signs of stress
Remain calm as this moment will pass

Shake to break the chains that hold
Twist then turn throughout their folds
Simplified code creates new modes
Move into motion to lighten your load

i am overzealous and underwhelming. i say somethings and i regret them. i say nothings and i wish i hadn't. i am weighted and unbalanced. i place value where i think it belongs. i lean heavy into things for too long. i am uncertain and so sure. i run out of thoughts before my heart runs out of feelings. my thoughts run over and overwhelm my heart. i am liminal and concrete. im incomplete but hoping i could be.

The river flows endlessly droning on
In its never ending song
Roaring like a train
As I flys with the grain
Rumbling swishing flowing
As one, accepting each drop, growing

The river splashes against the rock
The stationary weight
Pulled down by its heavy burdens
The roaring rivers freight

They are seperate elements
Toghether in the stream
The river a gentle blue gasp of life
A crowd of laughing joy
The rock a heavy grey sorrow
Pushing around the crowd
Cracks from the ages
Of river sweeping around
Now and then harsh or gentle
Waves lap against the rock
Smothing holes or cracking edges
Slowly wearing it down
Yet never joining
For they are seperate elements.

Falling in line with the rest
Forgetting that life owes nothing
Knowing better, yet, still being dragged to the dregs of humanity
Weighted by words, chained to emotion
Drowning in doubt, scraping across broken standards
Settling into the remnants of the wasted dreams of a people

Loft for the weighted memories still stuck to earth by way of highways in mind deciding worth lost to the odds just might light your best and not the worst to leave you burned and make you hurt with a hole left mid breast so the whole heart started at first sight turns wild in flight and down to depths of stress plumbed once per month while you cry out little droplets blessed with time passed and spent at life's expense, listless and bound to recollect proud moments of ownership, passe notions of leadership, the one who leads and was led is nondescript, if it's turbulence or asphalt smooth to speed in sleep in place of days waking, walking two by four recede to dream where you toss and kick fears and pain away under thick rain you'd rather dry with orange rays and haze of heat, one mute mouthed faux biker writer always at the call though no admittance, transmits recognition of what feels like martian love at collision where no rocks were hit but rifts roared and wracked the soaring sky, pyres and stars reflected in moist eyes at night with even gentle wind or slight breeze, these fragments of us chipped off at cycle's start darkness whether live or lie, do not comply to be cautious when the very thought, though heavy, brings loft for the weighted bevy of ties that chain what happiness we weep to celebrate.