Poetry as a task

Some days even poetry is a task
Those days when the body just wants to stay in bed
The limbs itching from it seems itching
The whole environment saps the strength

There are days when the mind wants an escape
The body want a long vacation
The question of where does not seem to matter
The only condition is that place be somewhere else

The task list still fills
There is still so many things that need accomplished
Several items have been started, but none completed
Even these few lines are listed as a task

The mind goes forward to the days of travel
Deadlines are all pushed forward to meet the trip
That which could be put off now cannot wait
That which was put off needs completed

The mind remembers there being more time
Time enough to do what the hands touched
Time enough to read and to study
Time enough to write, play and argue

Counting time the body finds there is a liability
The day can be filled, yet noting seems accomplished
The body can be exhausted fighting entropy
Perhaps life is made up of fighting entropy

Some of the tasks are nothing more than delaying tasks
Leaving what can wait until winter where it is safe
The mind is shocked at its own laziness
Seems that life has become waiting and hiding

Perhaps escape is the wrong word
Perhaps the word to adapt!
Circumstances change, needs change
Current needs have not yet been enumerated

Money has been counted
Time is being counted
Eleven minutes typing — still counting
A dozen minutes spent, Eleven tasks remaining

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