I have trouble enjoying the journey
with each job in the way of the next.
The background noise of the never-ending imperative,
an unwelcome but necessary hum.
The all-too-soon over burst of happiness and pride,
over reaching the far shore yet again.
To sign my name in the corner,
and back off, spent.
The happy quiet does not last.
Unbidden, the hum comes from beyond.
Turning to a rusty shriek,
yet again.
Your soul throws you into the sea
and your body starts the next swim,
toward the next unseen shore,
journeying in the bedlam,
of all the other seas,
waiting their turn.
Brett A. Jones Nov 2012
