Passion by Mackinley Clevinger, April 12, 2016
I watch the clock, its mistrustful design
And heave a sigh, my life resigned
To plying a trade, broke but my own
Happy to see what plants I shall sow
Return to my work, put nose to the grindstone
Make my thoughts real, content and alone
Eternal my task, I know it is not
Yet at the market of time, it is I who am bought
The hands of the clock promising no loan
Yet not with reward, nor promise of fame
I find myself working, as if life were a game
But free I become, and attention I give
To a world much the older, in which I live
Not as I do when tasked by design
But as must be seen to, to which I resign
The day spent out, a double life lived
With thoughts cursed to wish again I were hid
Away from the world, with so much within
Attention given, or payed, too shallow, too thin
Return once more with glee and joy
A child finding once more a new toy
A present I’m gifted to unwrap every night
Returned to the store when money grows tight
The clock ticking drones, but soon falls away
As night turns to day, an eternity to stay
Within me the light, without the dark
Dreams and aspirations to leave my own mark
Content to drift on euphoria of focus
No thoughts flitting about as the swarm of locust
Drown the knowledge of the coming tomorrow
And enjoy what time I can be hidden, no sorrow
A life of the craft I dream to possess
But home is not home if again repossessed
So foray into the greater world I will
Dreaming one day that passion payed bill