The Worker (poem by me)

I’m a worker,
It’s what I do,
Brain goes on,
Heart goes off,
Hands get busy,
Emotions stay contained.
All the fluff,
All the pain,
Hidden in my ambition,
Driven to succeed.

Except I don’t,
I work till it hurts,
Then I find no comfort in it,
Take no refuge in my pay.
Because there’s always more,
More work to do,
More funds to save.
I can never relax,
I’m a worker,
It’s what I do.

When will I rest?
When will I trust God
To make my wings take flight
And soar above my busy-ness?
When will I give up the fight
And claim my right to Sabbath?

And he said to them, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. —Mark 2:27

© 2016 Kim Bond

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