hent

who have i hented this life from?
surely it was not meant for me.
i was supposed to be traveling the world
and writing novels
and money was supposed to be irrelevent
at the same time it was to be in ready supply.
instead i struggle to connect the ends
instead i work on a sponge i must wring joy from
(when i dreamed of a place where joy overflowed its cup)
what choice do i have but to follow the path
though i realize i can create a fork with some work
i dare not step off the path into the brush
for i have too many responsibilities
and too many ropes tying me to the ground
i will wring the joy out of work
and soak in the joy of play
until that day when play and work are one.