It is another early morn’
The sun is not yet cresting the horizon
I felt the weight of yet another day
Oh, I’m gonna make it through, no doubt
There is nothing light about my steps
My thoughts bound up in duty
To face and focus and pick up the task
Trudging to sunset, moment by weary moment.
No bounce of step or hope in the day
Nothing to look forward to with joy
Another day, no new dollar,
The same ol’ rut as yesterday.
There’s something about pushing
And moving, not fast, nor slow
Just going with a pace that states
It’s another day to get through.
Have you ever walked through deep snow
Or a marsh with sand that sinks
You pick up each foot, forward, let’s go!
That step sinks below. It’s hard to move.
Progress is often judged by the distance,
At days end, the list is tasked, and the duty is done
Rest; it’s time to prepare for a new day
Just to do it all again.
In a reading, someone explained life
As an equation to be balanced, “x must equal y”
Me on one side of the equal sign
The remainder of the world over there.
When one side changes, the other adjusts
By force, By necessity. It must balance
Because we cannot make it today
Without equality in our results.
That’s the trudge of this day,
Headlines notwithstanding, I feel
That the other side keeps changing, pushing
And I, well, I must react to feel in balance.
But little ol’ me, by myself on this side,
Wants the change I make to push back
You know, turn the tide, force all adjustments
To be on the other side.
Victory’s in sight. Can you sense the end?
The sandbox will soon tump over.
I’ve not varied my pace or changed my face
I’m changing for the better!
So, let’s sum it up. I refused to be pushed
Down, aside, into a corner, or away.
It’s time to pick up the pace. The trudge?
It is about to become a footrace.
(I’m not a poet, but I see lines of words that flow.
Some call it dyslectic writing. I simply call it prose.)