An Amazing Potential Poem by ness tillson

I Work hard day and night
Work my life away to the bare bone,
Struggle, scheme and fight,
All to no avail, no result, no light.

Others are happy, joyful and light,
They smile at me as they pass in the night,
As I struggle on with my load,
My burden on my shoulder
They move on laughing out of sight.

I accumulate tools and assets that are useless,
Trinkets and toys that give no results
I plant trees that give no fruit,
I create ideas and think luminous thoughts
That are never realised,
Give myself goals that are never attained.

I go nowhere forever, and I keep going,
Struggling, Crying, Bleeding, and Dying.

The more I work the more I produce nothing,
Wind and illusion, empty of substance,
My life a journey on the tread mill of non existence.

It's amazing the potential I can create,
I collect, imagine, build and fake.
A mountain of gold, I sit on like an egg,
That never hatches,
The chicken is dead.

The gold turns to dust and is blown away,
My mind is blank with nothing to say.
The chicken is rotten and not fit to eat,
The sky turns black under my feet.

I produce more and more emptiness,
More and more lies,
More and more wind to fill up the skies,
Noise and confusion are my daily bread,
Empty delusion fills up head.

The more I make the more I loose
The more I win the less I can choose,
When I arrive at the end of the day,
The van drives up to take me away.

What ever I thought I had is lost and forgotten,
What I thought was good is decayed and rotten,
Any sense of worth, feeling I am me,
Is stripped to the bone, thrown out to sea,
To be eaten by fishes, torn and dissolved,
Till nothing be left, no problem to be solved.

I dig this well with my very own hands,
Well like a coffin, a tomb stone in sand,
My rotting body, my bones and my ashes,
Lay in the sink like a pile of dirty dishes.

It's amazing the potential I create everyday,
As the van drives up to take me away.

The real question is, how much is it worth?
What price tag did you pin on me,
On the day of my birth?

How much gold, silver and sand,
How much wind, air, smoke in my hand?

Trade my soul like a dozen eggs,
My body a corpse that's already dead.

My mind an explosion, completely insane,
A puff of smoke in the eternal Game.