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Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Arbeit Macht Frei



There's many a metaphor straddling
The continuum of work and death
A slave knows one leads to the other 
And the other is deliverance from hell

We hope we go, when we do, with grace
Die as we live, hard at work, always
That there won't be much room for regret
At the end of a life of constant effort

Still others have made death their work
Diggers of graves, burners of bodies
Butchers, fishermen, farmers and priests
Nurses and caregivers at the hospice


If like me, you're learning-averse 
through work we can know ourselves
While in sickness, the first thing to suffer
Workaholics bring illness to the desk.

When work seems never-ending I play
a trick upon myself and think of death
But when the toiling is itself the reward 
It's a celebration and coping, in the best way