Restlessness

.

Restless

Considering the fact that the little hand 

(If we still had clocks with hands)

Has now nudged past three,

And the rosy-fingered dawn is probably

Stuck somewhere out over the Mediterranean,

That seems to capture it.

I am content with the understanding

I have come to with the Universe.

Foster Harmony.

Enable Beauty.

Distill Complexity.

Oppose Harm.

Got it. I'm trying.

But the itch I cannot scratch is the one

That moves that agreement forward.

Being no longer willing, or perhaps likely,

To wait the decades necessary 

To observe success or confirm failure;

The task of instilling curiosity 

In students who could be my grandchildren

Has lost its allure.

So, in lieu of my life’s work - what?

Currently I take my greatest pleasure

From drawing fanciful abstractions

While listening to whatever musical genre

Captures my inclination of the moment.

But the serious rules governing mature society

Create long noses down which

Such endeavors are observed.

Yet around me those same pinched nostrils

Attend with “all due respect” to “goals and plans”

Both “long term” and “interim”

That have time and time again

“Turned slowly unto dust.”

I have grown tired,

Not simply of feeling dusty,

But also of pretending

That it is important to be thus.

So again, in lieu of my life’s work - what?

At the moment just restlessness.

Still, I take some degree of comfort

In having snared this particular bit of lightening 

In its appropriate bottle.

Perhaps with it thus suspended

I will discover ways to bend it to

A more harmonic path.

Fiddlesticks 2

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