though the burden of your arms is great
you and i both know
the mind's burden is greater
no relief aide for the graveyard shift,
no pinch hitter for the final stretch of your failing strength,
no finality in the final stretch at all, really,
only same-or-worse on and on and
on, and the stretch and stretching on means to bend you til it breaks you, no hour of peace,
no wandering for the mind's eye while the other side of the scale, it seems,
may wander as it likes (though never out of shouting distance,) leave you to your own up-and-downs
like an unsolvable equation.
our lady of fatigue, our lady of the fine example,
our lady of i've-kept-you-long-enough, best-get-back-to-it-love,
there's still a lot of meat left on the bone.
I'm Rabbit, a queer androgyne born and raised in Southern Appalachia, now far travelled. I've been a Lokean for ten years and I am a godspouse-to-be. Mainly free verse, a little prose. Other devotionals and odds and ends can be found on my tumblr.