To work myself tired, be exhausted
The feeling: I enjoy it greatly. Whose
Well-worked, sore muscles don't enjoy the shred?
That burning feeling that sits in one's shoes....
In works of mind the strain is valued as much,
Perhaps almost doubly so, mentally.
Creations, musings, worlds one can not touch
Made concrete through exertions privately!
Yes through the pains of much, the work's done well
Exhaustion sets in once more. Body burning,
My brain is bumbling, but my acts shall tell...
They're worthy. I'm pained; I don't mind the lurching.
Through toil and thinking we become creators
Fatigue: the last course that creation caters.
Author's comments:
This poem was written for a poetry class. We were forced to use a traditional form. Please note, it was published in the class first. I am reposting it here as a form of public publication.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
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