What If I Do Not Have To Do Anything Anymore? Poem by Shalom Freedman

It's a question one can only answer themselves. I write as it pleasure for me and relieves stress and tension. But I have no due date a publisher has set. To force the words. I think is quite absurd. But then again it is not my bread and butter. A lively hood slipping from ones own finger tips. Keys are pressed and still all their is more emptiness. A dark abyss does exist in the monetary gains of a passion. A blockage of a drain that wants to keep emptying. A plunger that has no force left at all. The rubber has worn right off the handle. And each time you try to use it just collapses with huge splash. A shock to the possibility to limits reached. The question isn't can you do it once more. But what was your reason for doing it in the first place? Does it still exist in the present pretense? For a purpose without reason isn't really a purpose at all. A guidance to ones gentle fall. With skinned knees maybe you can get back up. And ride that horse once more.