Of Work and Solitude

 I know I've been vacant a while;

many things consume me;

 my organisation's gone to tatters

and I'm low on esteem and energy...

Here is a poem from a time gone by:

I wake up to a day, so weary,

a twilight day of the kind so eerie

that makes me pine for slumber, nearly

with a shining eye that glistens, teary

as I fight to rise from bed.

I rise to a day that gnaws my bones,

compelling me to leave my home

and descend into the world alone

with an unearthly aching head.

I wash my face with water, pure,

an almost immediate, if temporary, cure

that trickles, effervescent, as I reel in, allured

and further lap until I am quenched and sure

and so, my routine commenceth again.

If I find time, though I am usually late,

to be at some affair, or at some place,

I may choose to see to my hunger’s fate

though I more often than not, ignore the pain.

It seems, in life, one must not allay

from reaching out, beyond the haze

of our most immediate, uncertain, days

and take hold of that, which the spirit craves.

Immured in my vision, I carry on-

though I lose days and clarity to drink

and into many drunken nights, I sink;

both far away, yet on the brink-

and many my dreams are lost and gone.