O, to possess a talent for lasting the whole day, week, month or year!
Those monolithic fortresses are gifts I can only hope to admire.
I may never realise them securely.
I work, I am strong but it does not last, I am consumed.
I buckle and crack my way through the fires of the day.
Dying for a rest or a lie down- or just dying.
Self reproach argues that I don’t work.
I am too shy, stupid or unfocused.
Others, like stallions last all day and go further to provide for and realise their dreams.
I get highly spirited to do a little and accomplish it.
Through daily pressures, I vomit up my weaknesses, all too transparently for everyone to hear.
I let their voices speak out.
At other times I am a comedy for the fit to gawp at.
For those wearied by my condition to scold.
I really do bubble, buckle and crack in the fire of the day.
I am coupled to its joy and trouble.
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