Legacy

Isn't it obvious how far apart

People have torn their hands from their hearts

Busywork occupies fingers and minds

Filling each corner with paper that binds

And slits unwary searchers with small bleeding cuts

That stain and disfigure the drawing of struts

Meant to hold up and embolden besides

Yet when they go up they withhold what's inside

The walls they have built and the windows they lock

Hands on their papers and hands on their clock

Moving in lockstep to build and renew

Forgetting to discern what they can from should do

The ticking of time beats much louder without

Than the thumping within, too quiet to rout

And what will they leave when the time has run out?