Breaking the Cycle
I rise —
And find the world as I left it.
There is work to be done and I do it.
The coffee grows cold and I drink it.
And I drive, and sign in; I sort, and begin:
I study, and score; I tally; report
I probe, and I pace; I type and get paid
I plan, and I serve by eliciting words;
And when the world is finally quiet and seen,
I sigh
And I dream
And I rise —
And find the world as I left it.
There is work to be done and I do it.
Sandwich crust on the table — I eat it
And I wash, and I load, and I gather, and groan;
I sweep, and I play; I share, and evade;
I cook, and I scrub; I read, and I love
I stack, and I hang; I stretch out the day
And when the world grows dark and serene,
I cry
And I dream
And I rise —
And find the world where I left it.
But something within me has shifted
I reach for the doorknob and twist it —
Grab a backpack, a briefcase, a purse, and a pen —
Walk away from the beams with my baggage and dreams
Feeling heavy, insane, I write in the rain
Find my rhythm and dance — at last, taking a chance —
And when the world falls away to the skies,
I rise
And I rise
And I rise.
