Work Poem

For those of you who do not know, I have the privilege of working at Jimmy John's. I make and deliver sandwiches. Today it was very slow. Slow enough that I wrote this poem to stay sane. It has nothing to do with work.

In my hour of alone,

I saw the fight for sins atoned

and cheered the beast whose highest throne

we saw and did not see.

I cheered him then as now I write,

concerned with essence over right,

enamored of the starkest light--

I aim only to be.

In gardens of pretend desire,

heathens tame and tickle fire,

bind and break the sacred pyre,

and still they are not free;

and still we are not free.