The Fires Of The Day

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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