There is a protection in being habitual, methodical,
even for we as dust motes to titans.
Less room for mistakes, less theoretical,
repetition breeds simplicity, but stifles nuance.
Still sameness, of it, after a while proves defeat for the spirit;
we cower casually, slowly rush to be frightened.
Igniting only futility, trying to keep your brain warm,
the right tool in the proper place, skillful hands, a thing of beauty.
Small control of violence makes you high.
Reach for a caliper, find it right where you measure these things;
what was, when you got there, time it took.
How can function be returned to electrical life?
Processes run down, spiraling to a stop, abruptly quit being habitual.
Songs you’ve known by heart for decades slip away
till only one method remains, can be a deadly serious choice
between sword or ruby, breath or sleep;
no amount of sameness improves this chance.
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Author:
Dan Williams (
Offline) - Published: September 22nd, 2024 01:33
- Comment from author about the poem: A maintenance man's troubled dream.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments3
"even for we dust motesto titans" Great line Dan. Many deep philisophical questions here. The last line ties it together. Nicely done
You are reliable and perceptive and I truly appreciate it.
between sword or ruby, breath or sleep;
no amount of sameness improves this chance.
one to be faved for sure.
Thank you as always for your kind comments.
In my long life Dan I have come across some very skilled tradesmen and it has been a beautiful thing to see them work.
Andy
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