If love becomes a chore

This job I will love no more

Deadlines become dead ends

Unfinished work becomes trends

The peak of my undoing, the good left undone

At the top, a mountain with a view of the sun

Daylight pours through the window of my soul

My bedroom I’ve left behind, my regrets none

This love will move my pen if not my heart with a hole

Fill it with words of sundry

If none other than these pages love me

Even if some are of filth and muddy

I still play here, joyful as pigs and kids

Rubber boots and puddles mix

Betwixt the rain and sun are candids

Moments I appreciate in my craft

© The Sad Owl