Work

The hours pass

tick

tock

tick

tock

reminding me

-no-

taunting me,

that time

is fleeting,

fickle,

never on my side.

I sit,

idle,

overwhelmed,

amongst mountains

and molehills,

and a list that,

while x's are made,

only

ever

lengthens.

There is a string

tied to each of my

fingers

each pulled

a different

direction

until I am utterly

drawn

quartered

longing to scream

FREEDOM!

The whispers of never being

enough

become the silver

in my hair.

The wonder of what

it is

All

For

become the lines within my

visage.

But then,

A spark in a smile,

glee in a giggle,

warmth in the wrapping

of tiny arms.

Those small voices shout

over the whispers

the only form of

true

unconditional

love.

So,

I get up,

cause I have

work

yet to do.