On Work
By alberto215
These rough hands that till the soilof drawn conclusions from a vague pastThey ache to push away from a well worn pathTo open wide the curtains of a better futureTo rest a bit from vicious daily toilSun burned craggy face, that dares to look upwardStop awhile, look up, smile turning skywardTo feel the warmth that burns the fleshAges subtly the features that once were freshAnd clouds that send a feel of cooler air upon the skinAnd send a shiver to remind you of your sinHead subued to ground that calls for turningWith the task to quell the ever present burningSight lost again to the constant yearningOf questions unasked, and answers never givenIs this poem to disjointed? Does it stall and fade? Written May 2nd, 1999 © on Oct 06 2001 03:26 PM PST, Alberto 0 • 12
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"These rough hands that till the soilof drawn conclusions from a vague pastThey ache to push away from a well worn pathTo open wide the curtains of a better futureTo rest a bit from vicious daily toilSun burned craggy face, that dares to look upwardStop awhile, look up, smile turning skywardTo feel the warmth that burns the fleshAges subtly the features that once were freshAnd clouds that send a feel of cooler air upon the skinAnd send a shiver to remind you of your sinHead subued to ground that calls for turningWith the task to quell the ever present burningSight lost again to the constant yearningOf questions unasked, and answers never givenIs this poem to disjointed? Does it stall and fade?..."