Poem-A-Day: Day 250

The Penitent Workforce

The crackle and pop
of the joints settling in place
marks yet another day deservedly over.
The day is nothing
but a routine maintenance
of a sad endeavor at trying to be something.
That something is never,
and will never fully manifest
until the actual routine of the day is changed.
The routine is mechanical
and emotionless in its methods,
and it becomes a set of gears grinding away.
The gears grind the soul
into nothing, the dead inside
is the mark of a routine spent toiling faithfully.
The faithful pursuit
of the never meant something
is reminiscent of the crackle and pop of joints
as they settle in place,
and mark the end of a day;
the only time that the soul returns to fervor.