wit’s end

the weight of fatigue of push and pull 

i tear my clothes against the steel and plastic 

that harnesses the course of my life

to which i yield

we think so modern and so we are 

by standards of the age of stone and stick

but in terms of pain of outcome are no different

our ancestors of that age

our turn, 

our weary muscles, 

our tendons burn, 

our nerves buzz, 

our joints ache, 

the force of nature is strong

it will never change

i reach for a drink at end of day

the push and pull go on without release of hold, 

no free of grasp to it 

as i reach for more of the same each day 

the chatter 

the clatter steeped in countless matters, 

its a wonder the overload doesn't tear our hearts apart

or does it?

i find myself in a stupor in the morning of that day 

followed without mercy by the night 

into which i plunge,

to the moving treadmill of life

i am broken, 

i trudge, 

i fall, 

i crawl

the treadmill drags me away

hidden tears of grief restrained 

take their toll on my soul

pain of helplessness of the pain 

the thoughts in my head are pierced, 

assaulted by jagged bits of sand and gravel, 

shards of glass cut and hurt my thoughts 

impede my work at hand,

my urge for peace, for rest

is insulted by the fiery darts, so disguised 

are hurled by the foes that surround us unseen 

while angels fight, help us resist 

while measuring the scene

i fall 

and fall again 

and rise 

and push and pull, resist

every weapon i have,

employed, 

still, 

fatigue weighs my thinking down, 

the onslaught is unrelenting

fatigue makes the assault stronger

hard on mere flesh and blood 

i would otherwise be forever destroyed 

as is for some, 

parts, or all 

no one goes unscathed

perplexed and vexed 

i am distraught at wit's end 

i fall again unsure and fragile, 

my heart can't take much more i know

i must walk, limp or crawl another mile nonetheless, 

make it to the end of yet another trial

among the previous millions from the start 

to my present life, 

in this world,

in this time 

in this age

with everybody else

i must make it to the end nonetheless,

somehow

despite my wounded beaten heart

and anxiety called fear

until he said:

My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest

i heard this morning at the start of another day